I'll Love You More
by Infinitesimi
Summary: The brothers are together and in their own world at last, but will Ed be able to adjust to a world that has long since moved on without him? BEWARE SERIES SPOILERS [Continuation of Friends and Lovers] Chapter Eleven: Hanging In The Balance
1. Chapter One: Left Between

**I'll Love You More  
**

_**Things you should know:** this is the continuation of "Friends and Lovers," my post series Ed-comes-come story. The first chapter takes place before the last chapter of that story. However, I don't think it is necessary to read the first story to enjoy this one; most of this chapter explains itself. All you need to know is that Ed and Al are finally together after a long separation, and that Ed has been at home with Winry and Al has been in Germany with his double, Alphonse Heiderich. Also, this story is NOT already completed, so I'm sorry ahead of time, I am going to be slower with updates._

_**Warnings: **It is very possible that I will change the rating of this story later on. It will get very violent and very sexual so if those things bother you, you might be better off not reading. Also, I know it starts off like an Ed/Win/Al triangle of sorts, but the whole story is not entirely het. If gay couples bother you, again, perhaps you should not read. Furthermore, this story, especially this chapter, contains SPOILERS FOR THE ENTIRE SERIES but for the most part ignores the movie. #nods# There. I think I've covered all my bases. Enjoy!_

* * *

**Chapter One**: **Left Between**

The sun was huge, red, low on the horizon and cold. Alphonse felt a crushing weight pressing down on him, and tried unsuccessfully to shift on the cold marble of the temple floor. "Brother," he groaned, the words seeming to stick in his throat. "Get off."

The body on top of him rolled off, hitting the floor with a soft _thud._ Alphonse sat up slowly, his mind registering the growing chill in the air. "Brother?" he said again, becoming more aware. "Edward?" He looked wildly around him, and the man knelt in front of him, the man with his brother's eyes.

"I'm here," said the man softly. "Are you all right, Al?" he asked. Those eyes were bright, magnified by tears and turned bronze by the redness of the setting sun.

"I- are you really him?" he faltered. "Is it really you?"

His brother nodded, blinking, and brushing at the wetness in his eyes. "It's me." He watched intently as Al's eyes searched his face, his body, his being for something familiar. "I'm sorry I'm not what you remember." His eyebrows drew down in concern. "Are you all right?" he asked again.

Alphonse looked down at himself, then back at his brother. "I'm fine. Are you?"

Edward nodded, standing up slowly. "We should get out of the desert," he said. "It's going to get cold soon."

Al shuddered suddenly, rubbing his arms. "Colder," he amended. He stood as well, standing in front of his brother, still taking in the sight of him. Yes, this was Edward. He was the same boy he remembered at eleven years old, he told himself. It's still him. He realized he was looking down. His brother's lack of height had been almost legendary, but in his memory he and Ed had always been nearly the same size. Alphonse might have been and inch or two taller, and just a bit stronger, but Edward had always been older, and in his mind he looked up at him. Now he was looking down.

Those unruly bangs, those thin, gracefully expressive eyebrows, the way those lips were beginning to quirk up at the corners, yes, this was his brother.

"What?" Ed asked him, smirking.

"Ah, nothing…" Al hedged. "You're-"

Ed waved a hand dismissively. "Short, I know," he finished for him. "Everyone made sure to tell me you were taller than me." He frowned, eyes darting to the side. "Don't tell anyone I said I was short though."

Al smiled; gave a hesitant laugh. This was Ed, yet not Ed. The Ed in his imagination had pitched a tantrum of unreasonable proportions whenever his height was mentioned, just like the stories had said, but he had no actual memories of something like that happening. "Let's get to the nearest town," he said, trying to sound normal, and his brother nodded, following him across the floor of the temple and out into the barren desert.

"Al," Edward said, stopping at the edge of the ruin. "I'm so proud of you," he began. "All the time I spent on the other side, I didn't even know if you were alive, or if you were, what you were doing. Everyone told me you never gave up, that you always believed I was alive somewhere, and that you did everything you could to find me, and while you were doing that you became a State Alchemist, and used your alchemy to rebuild after the war, and you did so many things-" he stopped. "You're amazing, Al," he said, his eyes shining with pride. "You're everything I would have wanted you to be."

"All I wanted was to have you back, Brother," Alphonse whispered, and, now in their own world, the brothers embraced once more, feeling the solidness of their forms against each other. When they parted they began to walk across the sand, both knowing the direction of the nearest Ishbalan town. Ed was about to say something to his brother about how much of Ishbal he had seen restored in his short journey to the temple, and how amazing it was that the government was taking the initiative to help the nation it had nearly obliterated, but when he looked over at Al he saw him watching him with a concerned expression.

"Are you sure you're all right?" Alphonse asked again.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Yeah, I'm fine," he assured him. "We're both fine. We made it," he repeated, for himself as much as for Al.

His brother frowned. "Is something wrong with your automail?" he pressed, because Edward had an automail arm and leg, everyone who knew the Fullmetal Alchemist knew that, and what else could explain his awkward gait? Properly functioning automail should give him a completely fluid stride, he knew that from watching Winry treat so many clients over the years.

Ed looked at him strangely. "I don't have automail anymore," he said, an odd expression crossing his face. "I haven't had it for years-"

"Why not? What happened?" Al demanded, stopping in the cold desert, the concern in his voice growing.

"Automail doesn't exist over there," he began, drawing his eyebrow down, his mind spinning. "Weren't you- didn't you- all the time you were on the other side, didn't you say you were with Alphonse?" He flinched saying his friend's name, feeling uncomfortable suddenly.

His brother nodded slowly. "Yes, I helped him build the rocket," he confirmed.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "You spent all that time with him and he never mentioned my arm and my leg?"

Al shook his head, and to his surprise Ed laughed.

"That is so like him," he said, rolling his eyes. Then he sighed. "Well, he always told me it didn't matter to him that I was missing two limbs. I guess it really didn't, if he didn't think it was important enough to tell my little brother."

"It doesn't matter to me either," Al said quickly, suddenly defensive; strangely jealous. "I was just surprised, that's all." He frowned again. "Are you going to be okay walking all this way?"

Ed nodded. "I'll be fine," he assured him.

"Are you sure?" he persisted, looking at his brother skeptically. "It's going to be a long walk."

"Yeah, four hours or so. It's fine. I walked all the way out here, and it was fine," Ed said steadily, gazing into his eyes with firm assurance. _Don't worry about me, I'm fine,_ his eyes told him. "Let's go," he added, beginning to move again. "We don't want to get to the town too late, or there will be nowhere for us to stay." He smiled inwardly. It was just like before, two brothers on a quest, traveling all over the continent searching, only now they had finally found what they were after and their only remaining quest was to return home.

Ed's stomach clenched, and his smile drained. _Return home,_ he thought sadly. Winry had warned him not to return to Rizembool, that it would only be depressing; there wasn't much left there after the war ended. Pinako had passed away two years after he had disappeared; it had been sudden, she passed in her sleep. He never thought of her as old, and he was sure Winry never did either, but she must have been. He imagined Al comforting Winry at the funeral that had taken place eight years ago, or had it been four? He shook his head, feeling out of synch with this world that was supposed to be home to him. He had imagined being welcomed back with open arms, but instead- he hung his head, looking down at his feet, watching as the false one dragged a bit through the sand beneath him. _I don't remember what it feels like to have all my limbs, _he thought, not a new realization at all. _I don't even remember what having good automail feels like, not really._ What ever Alphonse had expected him to be, it surely wasn't this, he told himself. _I must look broken to him,_ he realized, understanding his brother's concern finally. _I'm not that kid he heard all those stories about, not any more. I'm someone else entirely._

He had not come home to Auntie, or to his Sensei either, who had died not even months after he disappeared. He had come home to Winry, and had- his face flushed in the fading light, but Al did not seem to notice. It had been without thought, without consideration, as if they were playing parts in a script that had been brewing in their minds for years (did it matter how many years?); as if of course, the night Ed came home, of course they would make love.

No matter what he did, no matter what his intentions, Edward Elric would always hurt those who loved him. That was the only thing that remained the same. He glanced over at Al, who was as intent on his own thoughts as he was, and fought with himself not to sigh out loud. This was nothing like their old quests. Al could not even remember their old quests.

* * *

It wasn't until the faint glow of the distant town grew close enough for them to define actual buildings that Ed broke the silence. "Are you wearing my coat?" was what he said, looking over at his brother, who had shivered and drawn the old brown garment tighter across his chest. His voice sounded weird to him, muffled in the vastness of the desert.

Al smiled, relieved that Ed was finally talking to him. "Yeah," he said, but then his face fell. "Oh…" he moaned, and Ed looked concerned. "Your red coat," he explained, "I left it there."

"My red coat?" Ed repeated, confused. "My old red coat?" He was silent for a minute. "You were wearing my red coat and left it in Germany?"

"I'm sorry!" Al all but wailed. "I'm sorry, brother, I wasn't thinking, I was just so excited to get back to you that I left it behind, I'm so sorry!"

Ed just shrugged. "Al, don't worry about it. It's just a coat. I figured it was long gone anyway."

Just a coat? Brother, it was the only thing I had connecting me to you! I slept in it when I missed you, I used to hold it and smell it because it smelled like you, until finally it started smelling like me, it wasn't "just" a coat, he thought, but he didn't say these things out loud. Now that he had his actual brother, why did the loss of his coat make him so sad? 

Ed raised an eyebrow. "Well, now that I'm here, you can't dress like me anyway," he said lightly. "People would get confused, don't you think?" They passed through the gate in the low concrete wall around the town, and Ed looked around. There were still a few people out, so it couldn't be that late at night. "Anyway, I guess-" he stopped, his voice tensing. "I guess Alphonse can have it," he finished quietly. "Where are you going, Al?" he said abruptly. "There is an inn on this street."

Al looked back over his shoulder. "I know, but there is a better one over this way. I stay there all the time. The lady is very nice, and she knows me pretty well by now."

The inn Al spoke of was a low concrete building, like all the other buildings Ed had seen, and dimly lit inside. It smelled odd, like something burning, and Ed looked past the desk into the next room and could see incense and smoke. There were three women inside, all dark-skinned and red-eyed, one wearing a simple robe of what Ed recognized as traditional Ishbalan dress and the other two wearing clothing more familiar to him. They all greeted Al, and to his surprise Al spoke to them in the foreign tongue, the words flowing easily from his lips. _His brother spoke Ishbalan?_ He listened carefully to the exchange; he knew a small collection of words but could not pick out anything familiar. Al gestured to him, and the women bowed slightly. Ed returned the bow and said _hello, _one word he was definitely sure of.

He and Al followed the woman up the stairs, and she gave Al the key to their room and bowed again, walking away. Once inside Ed flopped down on the closest bed, glad to get off his feet. He had told Al he would be fine, but the truth was the stump of his leg has been bothering him for at least the last hour of their walk. Al must have noticed, because he had carefully slowed his pace to match his older brother's, saying nothing. He rubbed at his thigh and considered removing the prosthesis, but he suddenly felt shy in front of his brother, not wanting to do anything else that might separate him from the image Al must have built up of him in his mind.

Al climbed onto the bed behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest, telling himself that this man who had been so quiet really was his brother, and there was no reason he shouldn't be able to hug him if he felt like it. He felt a surge of relief when Ed leaned back into the touch, bringing his own arm up to grasp Al's hand in his. "Are you really real?" Al asked, his lips brushing against the back of his brother's neck, making him shiver. "Are you really here?"

Ed laughed softly. "I'm really here, Al. And I promise, I'm not going anywhere. Anywhere you are is exactly where I want to be."

There was a knock on the door, and Al called out a word that must have been _come in_ in Ishbalan, and a woman appeared carrying a tray with two short glass cups filled with a steaming red liquid. She left the tray on the table by the beds and Al thanked her. Ed repeated the word Al had used, and she gave that slight bow again before leaving them.

Al disengaged himself from his brother and reached for one of the cups, taking a sharp sip, and then he laughed. "I never thought I would be homesick for red tea," he said by way of explanation.

Ed took the second cup and sniffed it suspiciously. "Red tea?"

Al shrugged. "It's what they drink out here. It's become slightly popular at home too, people think it's exotic, I guess." He watched Ed take a sip and laughed at his expression. "I like mine plain but you would probably like it better with sugar," he suggested.

"You spend a lot of time here?" Ed guessed, trying to draw his brother into a conversation and spooning sugar into the foreign beverage.

Al nodded. "The military has done a lot to rebuild, but it takes time to restore what was almost completely destroyed."

"I thought Ishbala forbid alchemy?"

"They don't know me as an alchemist," Al explained. "I'm just someone the government sent to help make things right again."

Ed frowned. "So they don't know you're using alchemy?"

Al shook his head. "No one is using alchemy. The government made it a policy to respect their beliefs about it."

Ed raised his eyebrows. "I guess things have really changed," he said, and Al nodded again.

"So," Al said after a few minutes of silence. He guessed that maybe his brother was so quiet for the same reason he was: they had been apart so long, and so much had changed that once the floodgates opened who knew when they would close again. He took a deep breath, and decided to be the first to ask the question. "What happened while I was gone? How did you know where I was? How did we both end up here? What happened to the other Alphonse?"

Ed took the first question and looked his brother directly in the eye. "Well, Winry is going to have a baby," he started, and cringed inwardly as he watched Al's face light up. Then he watched the joy drain from his face, and he felt a cold sense of dread seize his stomach. _Al already suspected?_

"How can she have a baby?" Al asked slowly. "I've been gone over a year. Who…"

"It's been eight and a half months here," Ed said quickly. "Time is different on the other side."

Al regarded him suspiciously. _Oh god, he knows,_ Ed thought, guilt pouring over him. "What do you mean?"

"It's faster," he said desperately. "It's 1925 there, and it's 1921 here." _What a story!_

Al looked sad, and Ed flinched. "So you aren't twenty two," he said, not the response he was expecting at all.

Ed shook his head, puzzled.

"I'm really twenty one now," Al said, "but I look seventeen, and everyone says I'm seventeen, and I don't remember those four years I spent in the armor but I still _lived _them, and since you were with me all that time I figured at least you would believe my real age-"

"I do," Ed interrupted, wondering why his brother was so fixated on his age. Did he think his being so much younger would make a difference to him? They were together, that was all that mattered! "If you say you're twenty one, then you're twenty one, Al. I believe you."

"But you're still so much older than me!" Al exclaimed. "And that's just one more thing that's between us now!" His words rang in the air long after he was silent. _Just one more thing that's between us._

Ed moved closer to him, taking his hand in his own, and Al almost snatched it away but stopped himself in time. _It's not weird for brothers to hold hands,_ he told himself firmly. _Not if they're as close as we are._ But he couldn't help imagining his brother holding that other Alphonse's hand, feeling something different entirely.

Ed brought his metal hand to cover Al's, trapping his brother's hand between his two mismatched ones. "Let's not let anything come between us, Al," he said seriously, those gold eyes burning with intensity. "Whatever happens, let's not let anything come between us."

* * *

Ed wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, didn't even know he had drifted off until the hot sun on his face woke him up. He remembered watching the black sky turn to grey and then to pale slate, and finally to that early morning dusky yellow, and he remembered watching his brother's chest rise and fall with each breath, staring at his sleeping face and wondering why, if it was early morning, he couldn't hear any birds. Birds had always made noise right before the sun came up, at home in Rizembool out in the country, in Central, in Munich, in every city he had ever stayed in. Were there no birds in the desert?

The sheets were dry but smelled slightly musty, and a wide rectangle of sunlight spilled over his side of the bed. He looked over at the other bed in the room, untouched. He moved his foot under the covers, feeling what he was certain was a single grain of sand between the coarse sheets, brushing his toes gently against Al's calf. His brother stirred in his sleep but did not wake up.

Once the questions started they had talked rapidly, answering everything as fast as it could be asked and asking everything that came to mind, more questions than could be addressed in a week, let alone one night. They were both tired, and decided to go to sleep at least twice, and had turned off the lights but kept talking in the dark, unable to see each and desperate to hear that the other was still there. They had traded information in the dark until the sky began to lighten, and even when he finally drifted into sleep Ed still could not take his eyes off of his brother.

He watched Al jump when he heard the knock on the door, and sit up with a start, immediately awake. He smiled at his brother and pushed the sheets aside, standing up and making his way to the door, conversing briefly with the woman he had spoken to the night before. When he pushed the door shut again, he looked down at himself, trying to smooth the rumpled clothing he had slept in, and pulled his long bronze hair out of the tie and combing his fingers through it.

"Morning," Ed said quietly, reaching for the false leg he had detached during the night and watching his brother glance quickly away.

"She said there's breakfast downstairs for us," Al explained, looking back at the door.

Ed stood up and stretched, popping the kinks out of his back, and looked down at his clothes much the way Al had done. "We look a mess, don't we, Al?" he said, smiling slightly. He yawned. "Breakfast?" he added hopefully.

Breakfast was a dish of honey-drenched rolls and a cup of hot, thick, sweet coffee, and then the brothers dozed, Ed letting his head drop onto his younger brother's shoulder as they rested in the cramped compartment of the desert rail train. It was another one of the military's efforts to rebuild the destroyed nation: a train that ran several feet above the ground so that the sand could never blow over the tracks. It made it easier to bring supplies in, and eventually the government wanted to extend the line all the way to Xing, linking the two countries forever.

When the train jerked to a stop Ed was already awake again, and he watched Al wake up immediately, just like he had that morning. Was that something he had learned in the military, to wake up at a moment's notice? He used to have to drag his brother out of bed, coaxing him slowly into wakefulness. Of course, it had been a long time since he had seen his brother able to sleep at all, and people did change.

"I'm going to get us tickets with my military account," Al told him quietly as the exited the desert rail. "You stay here. The ticketmaster is going to recognize me, and if you're there, he'll know who you are for sure."

"I have a ticket already," Ed said, a bit puzzled at his brother's show of caution, showing him the rumpled return-ticket that he had stowed away in his pocket. "I knew I was coming back." He raised an eyebrow. "Is it really that big of a deal if someone recognizes me? I've been here before, and no one knew who I was then."

"Yes, it's a big deal!" his brother hissed. "You're supposed to be dead! If nothing else, we would be mobbed by people, and never get home!"

Ed had the feeling that there was more to it than that, but said nothing, instead his eye catching on a young woman with a child in one arm and a battered suitcase in the other, with two other children clinging to the hem of her skirts. She was scolding one of them, he could tell by the look on her face, and smiled inwardly, thinking of the one time his mother had taken him and Alphonse to what they thought had been a "big" city but had probably just been a more developed town like Dillon or Bethan. He and Al had clung to her skirts just like that, afraid of being lost in what had seemed to them like a crowded station, and she had probably scolded them for wandering. He smirked. She had probably scolded _him_ for wandering. He had a tendency to stop to explore everything he found interesting along the way, regardless of where he was or who he was with.

"She kind of reminds me of mom," Al said softly into his ear, nodding his head toward the woman, and Ed smiled a full smile.

"Yeah, I bet we were a handful," he told him. Just then they both saw the smaller boy run off, and when the mother turned to call after him the suitcase she had been holding suddenly burst open, spilling the contents out across the busy platform. At once the two young men were at her side, shooing the crowds away from trampling her things, Ed collecting her two children while Al helped her pick up the articles that had been scattered across the ground, both ignoring her protests that they really didn't need to help her. She was crouched down above the old suitcase, still holding the baby in one arm and re-packing with the other. Al retrieved the last item from where it had rolled nearly halfway across the platform, and shut the lid for her, only then noticing that the clasps had broken.

The young mother seemed at her wit's end, Al guessed she was only stopping off in East City mid-journey like he and Ed were, and was at least twice as tired from traveling with her three children. She had been insisting that Al was being too kind, that she appreciated his help but that they would be fine, but now she simply sat back on her heels, staring at the broken latches in disbelief. "Don't worry," Al told her with a smile, "I'll take care of it." He glanced up at his brother and the two boys before clapping his hands together and pressing them to the battered container in front of him. There was a _crack!_ and Ed jumped, just like he had the first time he had seen alchemy since returning to his own world. The two kids who stood next to them stared at Al with worshipful awe as he picked up the suitcase, standing up and handing it, repaired, to the mother.

"You're an alchemist?" she said, the shock plain in her voice. "But you're so young!"

Al just shrugged good naturedly. "I'm older than I look," he said in explanation.

"Thank you so much for your help!" she gushed, glancing over at Ed. "Thank you both, you've been so kind."

"It was no trouble," Ed said, shooing the two boys back over to their mother.

"How did you do that?"

"That was amazing!" they cried, both at the same time, jumping all over Alphonse.

He laughed. "I studied hard," he said sternly, still smiling.

The woman looked at the brothers closely, recognition slowly lighting in her eyes. "I know who you are!" she said to Al. "You're the Soul Alchemist from the North, the one who used to wear the armor. The people's alchemist, they call you! Imagine running into someone famous here!"

_No, my brother was the people's alchemist, I'm just the military's alchemist, _Al wanted to tell her, and would have if his supposedly dead brother hadn't been standing right there. He glanced over to Ed, who looked pale and stunned, and flinched. _I didn't mean to take your title, brother, honest,_ he said silently, but it wasn't anger or jealousy in Ed's expression. It was something else entirely.

An announcement buzzed over the speakers. "That's our train," the young mother said apologetically. "It was wonderful meeting you, Mr. Soul Alchemist, thank you so much for your help." She nodded to Ed. "You and your friend both." She reached for the younger child's hand, gesturing for the older one to follow along as well.

"My brother," Alphonse corrected softly, once the woman was out of earshot. Ed's expression had returned to normal; whatever had bothered his brother had evidently passed. "How did mom do it, all by herself, with the two of us?" he mused.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "I imagine she didn't have much choice in the matter," he said stiffly. He glanced away, trying not to think too much. _Whose soul just repaired that suitcase? An old man who died in his sleep? A soldier who had agreed to die for his country? A sick woman who could not afford medicine?_

Al followed his brother's gaze, which seemed to be resting on a vendor's cart. "I'll be right back," he told him, going to purchase a carton of dumplings for them to share while waiting for the next train.

They sat side by side on the bench, Al still thinking about the mother and her children. "I can't imagine having three kids," he said after a while.

"I can't imagine having _one_," Ed said, studying his dumpling a moment before taking a bite. "But I guess we're about to find out, huh?"

"I'm glad you were there with Winry so she didn't have to be alone while she was pregnant," Al said seriously, causing Ed to nearly choke on his dumpling.

"No you're not," he managed, "all we did was fight, it was awful."

"What did you fight about?" Al asked curiously.

"Everything you can imagine," he said heavily. He took a deep breath. "Look, Al, the thing about the baby is-"

"You know what?" Al interrupted, chin on his hand, eyebrows raised. "You know who you look like?"

"Huh? Who?" Ed asked, startled.

"You look like Dad," Al told him, almost apologetically, reaching over to snag a dumpling from the paper carton.

The pain he had seen before flashed behind his older brother's eyes, and he sighed. "I need to shave," was all he said, rubbing his hand over the short stubble on his face. He looked up and a sign caught his eye, and without really meaning to change the subject, he asked curiously, "Hey, how long have the signs been in Ishbalan too?"

It wasn't that he was avoiding the subject. It was just that there were so _many_ things to say, and every little thing prompted another question from each of them. Instead of asking about the signs, Ed could have asked Al if he even remembered their father at all, or if he just remembered seeing pictures of them. When Hohenheim had come to Rizembool, Al had spent quite a bit of time with him, not holding the grudge that Ed did, but that was when Alphonse had been a suit of armor, and he didn't remember any of that, did he?

Ed knew, intellectually, that Al had no memories of those four years; it had been one of the first things Winry had told him when he asked about his brother. But it was only just beginning to sink in exactly what that meant. One of Al's questions the night before, in the inn, before they turned the lights off, had been why Ed did not braid his hair like the pictures had shown. Ed had shrugged, not wanting to see his brother's face fall upon learning that with his barely-functioning home-made automail it was nearly impossible to braid his own hair. He told him he didn't have time to mess with his hair like that, and raised his eyes hopefully to Al, telling him he could braid it for him if he wanted. After years of feeling the leather gauntlets of his armor gently twisting his hair together, suddenly he longed to feel his brother's human fingers against his scalp. Al had not looked at him when he said he did not know how to braid hair.

* * *

"Brother?" Al had asked him. They had been on the train headed from Central to Altenburg on what they had thought was the last bit of their journey. They sat opposite each other in the empty compartment, each brother's feet propped up on the empty seat next to the other.

Ed had opened his eyes, not realizing he had closed them. "Hm?"

"I was wondering," he began hesitantly. "The other Alphonse… did you really want him to come here, to our world?"

He had frowned. "No," he had said simply. "He could never have come through the gate. It wouldn't have been possible."

"Did you love him?" came the next question.

"Yes…" he had answered slowly, _god, this was another conversation he did not want to have. _

_Was he a replacement for me? Do you love him more than me? Would you rather be with him than with me? Are we the same person? Do you love me the way you loved him? _Al could have asked any of those things, and Ed would not have been surprised, although he would have been hard pressed for an answer. He was not expecting the question he did hear. "How could you have lied to him, then?"

Ed had pressed his lips together. _How can you lie to someone you love?_ "I didn't lie to him, Al," he had said finally. "I just didn't tell him certain things." _Just like right now, how I'm not telling you that Winry's child might be mine, and not yours._ "I didn't tell him anything he wouldn't believe, because I didn't want him to think I was lying." _I didn't want him to think I was a liar, or a crazy person, because I didn't want to lose him. Just like I'm hiding things from you because I don't want you to hate me._

Al had looked at him thoughtfully. "He knew how much you loved him," he had said slowly. "He really wanted to be here with you. Why couldn't he come through the Gate, just like I did?"

Edward had frowned, silent for a moment. "Do you know how to create something with alchemy?" he had asked finally, his voice low; hesitant.

"Present something of equal value," Al had said promptly, of course that was the answer and they both knew it, but he could tell his brother meant something else, and waited for him to explain.

"And the energy to fuel the reaction? Where does that come from?"

Al had tipped his head. "From the alchemist…" he had answered slowly, knowing this must have something to do with the other Alphonse but not certain what.

Ed was nodding. "But energy doesn't come from nowhere." He had sighed heavily. "When I first arrived on the other side, Dad told me that every alchemist has a Gate inside themselves from which they can draw alchemical energy-"

"_You talked to Dad?"_

Ed had held his hand up, signaling for Al to let him finish. "On the other side of the Gate, they have this law, just like equivalent trade, that says that nothing can be created or destroyed, only changed. They believe that when they die, their soul goes to heaven, but what is a soul, really, if it isn't the energy that keeps a body alive?" He did not meet his brother's eyes when he spoke his next sentence. "The energy we use to do alchemy comes from the souls who die on the other side of the Gate. That's what Dad told me, and I've found no reason to believe otherwise." He had raised his eyes. "If he could cross the Gate at all, it would have been as energy. I think. I wouldn't have wanted to risk it."

"You talked to Dad?" Al had repeated after a moment. "On the other side of the Gate?"

"Yeah."

Al had waited. Ed had seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

"Dante- you remember Dante?" he had begun haltingly.

Al had shaken his head. _I can't remember anything,_ he had thought miserably. "Sensei's teacher," he had said quickly, a little too eagerly, wanting to prove that even if he didn't remember, he still _knew_ things, at least some things. _Please, Brother, _he thought desperately. _I don't remember anything, but we can still share these things. I was still there! _

"It's okay, Al," Ed had said soothingly, seeing his younger brother becoming distressed. "It's okay that you don't remember things. I wish _I _didn't remember most of it either." He had taken a deep breath. "Besides, this isn't something you knew, even in the armor. This is stuff I found out right before I-" he flinched "-died." After a moment he had continued. "Dante's body was rotting away, and so was Dad's. That's why he left us when we were kids, he didn't want us to have to watch."

"What does Dante have to do with Dad?" Al had asked, not following.

"This is going to sound very weird," his had brother warned him, and in the stuffy train compartment, racing along rickety tracks and swaying with the motion, Ed, who had never been a storyteller, had begun a hesitant, disjointed tale of what he knew about his father's four hundred plus year life. He had told him everything, not sure what Al already knew and what he didn't, about the philosopher's stone, about the homunculus, about everything he had forced himself not to think about for the past ten years. The details had come to him in pieces, shards of information he had kept buried on the other side of the Gate. Hohenheim and Dante had been lovers long before he had met their mother. Envy had been their son long before Ed and Al had been born. They had created the horror that was the Philosopher's Stone. The legend of the city that had disappeared in one night was not just a story.

"Dad had been on the other side for a long time already when I ended up there. He found me in a hospital and brought me home with him. I stayed with him, before I found Alphonse."

"Why were you in the hospital?" Al had asked, alarmed.

Ed had glanced up. "Well, because when I showed up in Europe, it was without my arm and leg," he had said. "I was bleeding. I was unconscious. Someone brought me to a hospital, and somehow Dad found me there. Eventually, we… came to an understanding, I guess you could say."

Al had looked pained. "I wish I had known he was in that place. I would have liked to meet him."

"He died a long time ago," Ed had said shortly, looking out the window at the streaming scenery.

"How?" Al had asked, seeing the distress in his brother's face but unable to stop himself from asking.

Still staring at the window, Ed had sighed. "Can I tell you another time, Al?" he had asked. "Please?"

"Of course," Al had said softly. "Of course, brother."

* * *

Both brothers plunged into a state of panic when the realized why Winry was not in her house in Altenburg. They had rushed back to the train station, demanding tickets to Dillon, where Al said the nearest hospital was. They were horrified when they learned that the last train of the evening had already left, and tried unsuccessfully to find someone to drive them to the town instead. Eventually they had resigned themselves to taking the first train the next morning, both of them spending only a few hours on some unrestful sleep in the quiet house.

Once they reached the hospital the staff gave them the run-around, since neither brother was actually related to her, until Alphonse had finally pulled rank on them.

"I'm a state alchemist, that makes me your superior," Al said firmly, his voice ringing with authority. Ed smiled with pride, watching his brother withdraw the silver watch from inside his coat, dangling it in the man's face. "Now you let me into my girlfriend's room, or I'll transmute the door open!"

Al clapped his hands together without a moment's hesitation, placing them on the door which suddenly swung open with an alchemical _whoosh._ Ed watched his brother rush into the room, climbing at once into the bed with Winry. "I missed you so much while I was in that place," he said into her shoulder, pressing his face into her. She leaned her chin into the top of his head, rubbing her lips on his hair. "We didn't know where you were, we didn't know you were in the hospital or we never would have been so long-" Ed watched the scene from the doorway, silent in his brother's rush of words. "-you have no idea how different it is there, it's a whole other world, a whole other universe, like a mirror of this one, and-" Winry looked so pale, but she was beautiful, he realized, startled. _Of course she's beautiful, _he told himself. _I've always known she was beautiful. _ Her yellow hair hung in sheets, streaming over her shoulders, and she held the baby tightly to her chest even as she embraced Al. _Al's baby, _he thought firmly. _It must be Al's baby. _Al had halted his rush of words and was simply staring, worshipful, first at Winry and then at the baby, and shifted on the bed, coming to lay properly next to her instead of half-leaning on the edge of the mattress.

"I missed you too, Alphonse," she whispered, eyes on him, blinking back tears. Not once did she look up to see Ed in the doorway.

"I didn't know," Al was saying slowly, staring at the baby girl in her arms. "I didn't know you were pregnant, if I did I never would have left. I'm so sorry. I never guessed that I would end up trapped on the other side of the gate." He watched his brother touch the baby gently, reverently almost. _What does she look like, Al? _he asked silently. _Does she look like Winry? Does she look like you? Does she look like me? _ "I'm sorry I couldn't be here for you." He brushed a finger across the corner of her eye, tracing the path of her tear.

"I was afraid you were never coming back," she admitted, catching his hand in hers.

Alphonse was holding the baby now, cradling her gently in his arms. "Did you name her?" he asked softly.

Winry nodded. "I want to call her Kaiya," she told him, her eyes not leaving her child.

Alphonse rocked the baby back and forth, his expression enraptured. "That's pretty."

"It means forgiveness," Ed said hoarsely, from his stance in the doorway.

Finally Winry looked up, seeing him for the first time. Their eyes locked. "That's right," she whispered.

"Brother," Al said from beside her, "do you want to hold her?"

Edward hesitated for a moment before coming over to the bed, and his brother stood, placing the baby carefully in his arms. She was soft, and warm, and moving in his arms, squirming and shifting, beginning to wake up. Her eyes were two tiny creases in the pink folds of her face that opened to reveal clear grey orbs, shining but yet unfocused. Her tiny mouth opened in a yawn, and she seemed to be looking at him, although he knew that was impossible. "She's perfect, Winry," he told her. "She's perfect."

Ed was still holding the baby, rocking her carefully as he stood next to the bed, when the nurse appeared in the room. "I'm so sorry to interrupt this," she said apologetically, knowing that the two young men must be this woman's family; this woman who had given birth alone; this woman whose only visitors had been the two most important generals in the Amestris military. She carried a piece of paper with her. "Miss Rockbell, we need to fill out the birth certificate today, it's been a week now."

Winry looked up at her, her eyes shining. "That's okay," she said, her expression light, happy, like a new mother's face should look, thought the nurse. "I know what to name her."

"Go ahead," she prompted, pen poised.

"Kaiya Rockbell," she said firmly, smiling.

"Mother's name?"

"Winry Rockbell."

"Father's name?" the nurse asked, glancing with new interest from the man who held the baby to the man who sat with his arms around the mother.

"Alphonse Elric," said the man with the grey eyes, his expression shining with that same glow as the mother. Because he was watching the nurse write his name on the form, Al did not see Winry's eyes widen as she looked over at Ed, nor did he see the odd expression on his brother's face. _This doesn't mean we aren't going to tell him,_ Ed said silently, trying to believe himself.

"Alphonse Elric?" the nurse repeated, looking at the young man again. He was really a teenager, she saw, much younger than the baby's mother. "The Soul Alchemist?"

Al smiled at her. "The same," he said, attempting modestly.

In spite of himself, Ed grinned with pride. His brother was famous!

The nurse looked from one man to the other, taking in the texture of their hair, the structure of their faces, what she had seen of their mannerisms. The man holding the baby, the older one, raised his eyes to her, a wave of discomfort washing over him suddenly. Those eyes were as gold as his hair.

"You're-" she began, startled. "I mean," she covered hurriedly, not wanting voice any conclusions out loud. The Fullmetal Alchemist, the Soul Alchemist's brother, the one who had become state certified at the age of twelve, the one who had destroyed an entire city with his power, the one who had died the night the Furher had been assassinated, over six years ago, had gold eyes. All the stories said so. She had been in High School during his heyday, studying to get into college when this kid was roaming the country doing good deeds. The people's alchemist, they called him. He was a hero to the people in the north, regardless of what crimes the rumors held him responsible for. He had come from one of their small towns, just a child, a child who made a difference in so many lives along his journey. He even had his own holiday here in the north, although it certainly wasn't nationally recognized. And here she was, staring a dead man in the face, stuttering some excuse. "You two look alike," she ended lamely, addressing the younger one.

Ed had turned away, handing the baby back to Alphonse. "People say that," he mumbled, the air in the room becoming chill.

"Well," the nurse said brightly, tapping the paper in her hands. "It's all filled out now, I'll just leave you alone here." She turned on her heels, exiting the room. She would keep their secret.

When it was just the three of them, Alphonse let out the breath he didn't know he was holding. "She knew who you were, Brother," he said quietly, exchanging worried glances with Winry.

Ed frowned. "No she didn't," he protested, rubbing the back of his head. "She was just guessing. I've never seen her before, she's never seen me. She can't prove anything."

Al looked serious. "Eventually, someone will be able to."

"I think we should go home," Winry said to them both. "People are going to start talking."

In fact, they already had.


	2. Zwischenzeit I: Left Behind

**Zwischenzeit I: Left Behind**

_Dear Mom,_

_I'm so sorry for not writing you for such a long time. I was in an accident with the rocket and have been in the hospital for a while. Don't worry, I am going to be all right._

He stared down at the page. Was he going to be all right?

_I was thinking about coming home for a while until-_

Until what? Until the heavy silence in his Munich apartment stopped making him feel stifled, choked, dead, lonely, sick, miserable, crazy-

_-until I am feeling better. I missed seeing you last Christmas ._

Alphonse bit his lip, twisting the pencil between his fingers for a moment before signing the letter, folding it in threes and placing it in the already addressed envelope. He glanced over at the red coat splayed out on his bed, that strange garment his twin had arrived wearing, the one with the alchemy symbol on the back, and sighed, turning away and opening the hall closet. He pulled out his own plain brown coat.

On his way out the door he picked up the cane he had left the hospital with, and turned his key in the lock before starting down the street to the post. It was temporary, the doctors said, this cane, this difficulty moving. His body had sustained tremendous trauma; it was a miracle he was even alive, let alone up and walking. He caught sympathetic glances, cut-off stares and curious eyes as he slowly made his way down the sidewalk, _like Ed, _he thought, not for the first time. Ed had told him he didn't care about being stared at; humans were curious by nature after all, and he wondered if in time he wouldn't mind it either.

_But in time, _his mind chided, _you will be fine. _The chill autumn air bit into his cheeks, causing his pale skin to redden with the cold, and he shoved his hand further into his coat pocket. Tri-colored leaves blew around his feet, crunching under his steps, and the sky was blank, whitish-grey, glaring through the empty trees that lined the street. Yes, he would always have scars, he knew; the rocket had not only crashed but burned, and he would have been dead for certain if some unknown savior had not pulled him out. But the scars were well-hidden under his clothes, and what did it matter anyway? There was no one here to see them anymore.

"Alphonse," the postmaster greeted him kindly.

The post office door slammed shut behind him with a _whoosh,_ the chill air flooding in and dissipating all at once in the slightly warmer building. He set the letter on the counter. "To Hirligen, please," he said, his voice breathless.

The man weighed the letter, stamping it and taking his money before looking at him critically. "You're looking better, my boy," he said encouragingly.

Alphonse merely shrugged. "Slowly," he agreed with a half smile, turning to leave without saying goodbye.

The worst was this sense that he had lost his mind. It was that horrible loneliness of the big city magnified tenfold, pressing in on him again now that Ed was gone. _Dead, _his scientist's mind told him. _Gone, _corrected his heart. Logic told him that Ed had died in that explosion over a year ago, and that he alone had worked sleepless nights to finish the rocket that had been their goal, and that he alone had been in it when it crashed. It was the only possible course of events. There had never been another Alphonse. No one remembered seeing him with someone else all that time. Mr. Silleman, the government's man, had never met him. Seen him, yes, but never spoken to him. The other Alphonse kept to himself. No use meeting people, he had told him. He was leaving soon anyway.

_Like Ed. _The real reason Ed hadn't wanted to get close to anyone. Close to him. That must have been why, because to believe otherwise was to acknowledge that Ed did not want to be close to him because he had known something that Alphonse had not: he was, if not the very same, at least another version of his own brother. That would mean confirming his original impression of Ed, the first day he saw him in the library: this boy Ed was his brother Edward, who had died years before. He told himself then that that was impossible, it was purely a coincidence, and he told himself the same thing now, because he could not think of it any other way. He had loved his brother, but he never wanted to be his brother's lover.

_But Ed knew all along, _that voice in his mind pressed. _Ed knew._

Although he was alone in his apartment, simply standing in the living room, not even staring at anything, just standing, he imagined he could feel them both, both brothers, one on either side of him, both saying the same thing, in the same sad voice.

_All the many mistakes I've made, I made out of love, and that makes them all the greater._


	3. Chapter Two: The Truth Will Out

**Chapter Two: The Truth Will Out**

He could see the sunlight flooding the room even through his closed eyes; it was turning the last traces of his dreams red-tinted. He pushed his face further into his pillow, not really wanting to wake up. It had been so long since he'd had a dream like this, he tried to sink back into sleep to let it continue just a little longer.

He could feel Alphonse moving in the bed next to him, and curled into his lover's shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent. He felt two strong arms wrap around him, and smiled in his half sleep. Gentle fingers were brushing long bangs from his face, and Ed let his eyes open half way, planting a sleepy kiss on the other man's neck, and then his chin before finally locating his mouth, slipping his tongue between those soft lips.

Alphonse was not kissing back. Ed opened his eyes the rest of the way, seeing what was unmistakably his brother's face, and realizing in horror that this _was_ the dream in which he was home again, only he was awake now, meaning it was Germany that had been the dream, and he had just kissed his little brother.

He sat up stiffly, staring down at Al's wide eyes, stuttering out an explanation, feeling his face flush and his heart pound. "I'm sorry, Al, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he repeated, dragging a hand across his lips, as if to wipe the taste of his brother away. "It wasn't you, I mean, I didn't think it was you, I thought I was home, I mean, I thought I was back there, and-"

Al touched his arm lightly, stopping his jumbled excuses, and gave a strained laugh. "You awake now, Brother?" He sat up, pushing the covers aside.

"I'm sorry, Al, yeah, I'm awake now. I'm so sorry-"

"It's okay," Al said shortly. "You thought I was the other Alphonse, and that's what you and he- did- right?" he finished hesitantly.

"Yeah," he admitted, adding quickly, "but not because I wanted him to be you, god, I'm so sorry, you must think I'm some kind of sick person, I'm so, so sorry-"

"All right, Ed, it's okay," his brother said, standing up and waving him off. Then he stood up, turning back to look him in the eyes. "I mean, don't do it again, but I understand. It was a mistake. You thought I was him." He turned around again, picking up his towel from where it hung on the doorknob. "Besides," he mumbled, opening the door, "it's not like it was a bad kiss, or anything."

When he returned from the shower Ed was dressed already, sitting on the windowsill and reaching behind his head to tie his hair back. Al followed the limited movement of his brother's not-quite-automail with his eyes, but it seemed to do the job all right. He was beginning to get used to the artificial limbs, although they had startled him at first; he was becoming familiar with the awkwardly abbreviated way his brother moved, so entirely different from the ball of energy he had remembered training with when they had studied with Sensei years ago. "Al," he said again. "I'm really sorry."

Al sighed, falling back onto the bed, his wet hair soaking into the pillowcase. "I said don't worry about it," he insisted, not meeting his eyes. He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm so tired," he said then. "I could go back to sleep right now."

Ed shrugged from the windowsill. "So go back to sleep."

Al sat up again, going over to the dresser and re-ordering the pictures he had arranged there, moving Ed's things over to one side. "I can't, it's morning. Time to be awake."

Ed shook his head, smiling fondly, and stood up. "I never had a problem sleeping all morning," he reminded him.

Al just looked at him. "I know. Neither did I, but we were kids then. Now I've got things to do."

_Al, you're still a kid, what things do you have to do? _he wanted to say, but he knew the answer already. His brother wasn't a kid any more than he was, hadn't been, maybe, from the time he woke up ten years old again with Ed's entire life's mistakes dumped in his lap. "How come you're so tired?" he asked instead.

"Well, I only woke up four times last night because Kaiya was crying," he said pointedly. "Don't tell me you didn't hear that?"

Ed just shook his head. "I didn't hear anything, I was asleep," he said, thinking of his brother's new tendency to wake up at the slightest noise.

Al combed his fingers through his long bronze hair, and Ed was suddenly struck by just how much Al resembled their mother. How was it possible, he wondered, for him and Al to look so much alike when no matter how hard Ed studied his own reflection he could never pick out any traces of their mother? "What's wrong?" Al asked, realizing Ed was staring at him.

"Nothing," Ed said distantly. "You look like mom." _Especially when you smile, _he thought to himself, watching an unguarded grin spread across his brother's face.

* * *

Winry had not dared to imagine she might have both brothers under her roof at one time. Her musings had included how she would manage her business while taking care of her daughter, how she would comfort Ed if he returned alone, and how she would comfort Al if he returned without Ed. Now, her wildest dreams were made real, and she hadn't even had time to plan for them. As she had slipped in to bed the night before, exhausted, she had entertained brief thoughts of pancakes and strawberries for breakfast, before thinking dully before she drifted off that it was winter, and there were no strawberries.

Now she stood, heating water at the stove to warm Kaiya's bottle, her bowl of cereal becoming soggy on the table. She heard the shower upstairs stop, thinking_ that was nice, to be able to shower in the morning. _She wouldn't have minded one herself, but once Kaiya woke up she was afraid to leave her alone for any amount of time. Her shower would have to wait.

All she had managed was to take down the purple bowl from the cabinets, the one that had been her grandmother's, the one they had used for pancake batter on Sunday mornings before her mother and Trisha took the three of them to church, and filled it with tangerines. Pancakes with strawberries this was not, but it would have to do.

"Hi, baby," she whispered to the bundle in her arms, swaying slightly as she stood at the stove. "Hungry? Want some warm milk? How was your first night at home?"

Kaiya just looked at her, blankly, too young, she knew, to really even see her yet, but old enough to know the sound of her mother's voice. Winry imagined her daughter as a little girl of maybe four or five, asking where the rest of her family was, and herself taking down the photo album and pointing them all out. _This is my mother, and this is my father, _she would say. _They are your grandparents. They were doctors. _ She would not tell her they had been killed in the Ishbal war. Five years old was too young to talk about murder. _This is my grandmother, she was an automail engineer, like me. This is your other grandmother, she's your father's mother. We grew up next door to each other, your father and I. _Your father. Was Ed right? Did Al love them both so much that he would forgive them?

He would forgive Ed, of that she was certain. _But would he forgive her?_

She heard footsteps on the stairs. "Morning!" the brothers chorused in unison, making her smile.

"Would you believe," Al told her, jabbing Ed in the side, "that Brother slept the whole night through without waking up even once?"

Ed threw up his hands. "I said I was sorry!" he protested.

Winry looked up sharply, almost surprised to see him and not really knowing why. He suddenly looked out of place in her kitchen, standing next to Alphonse, although he had been living with her for… well, for nine months now, not counting the weeks he was away.

She knew Ed did not wake up when Kaiya's howling roused both her and Al. She knew Ed slept like the dead, she had watched him sleep in Al's bed in the early hours of the morning, she had found him sleeping at her kitchen table when she came in from a late night in her workshop. When the baby demanded attention, it had been Al, each of the four times during the night, who had appeared silently in her doorway, scooping the child out of the bassinet and rocking her while she went downstairs to heat a bottle. _Go back to sleep, Winry, _he had said the last time, the moonlight pale on his face. _I'll stay up with her, you just rest. _

Ed was standing next to her now, staring at the baby in her arms. "Okay if I hold her?" he asked hesitantly, and she nodded and placed her child in his embrace. She watched him as he held her daughter to his chest, an expression of utter peace washing over him as he carefully studied her like he had the day before. He smiled. "Good morning, Kaiya," he said softly. "I hear you made a racket last night." He looked up at Winry. "I'm really sorry," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I'll try to wake up at least once from now on, so you and Al can get a little more sleep."

She gave a short laugh. "I didn't know you could _try_ to wake up, Ed." she teased.

He shrugged. "I'm not sure I can," he said good-naturedly. "That's why I said try."

Al was standing slightly behind him, resting his chin on his brother's shoulder and looking down at Kaiya. "I think she looks more like Winry than like me," he said thoughtfully.

Ed just nodded, then he flinched and turned to Al, his expression clearly stating that it was Al's turn to hold the baby. Once Kaiya was safely in the younger brother's arms, Ed screwed up his face again and rubbed at his shoulder.

"Brother?" Al asked, concern plain on his voice.

"'M fine, Al, just sore," Ed assured him. "Must've slept weird or something." He glanced down at the soggy cereal Winry was unenthusiastically stirring with her spoon. "Is that breakfast?" he asked. "Cereal? And oranges?"

Winry glared up at him. "You were expecting something different?" she asked tightly, her eyes narrowing.

He began opening cupboards and taking down pans. He glanced at the coffee pot: apparently Winry's first thought had been to start a pot of coffee, although she hadn't had a chance to drink any. He poured the red mug, then the blue mug, and set both on the table in front of her. "Here. For you and Al, while I make us something decent."

"You can cook?" Al asked, somewhat startled.

Ed looked at him, raising an eyebrow. "Win asked me the same thing. Yeah, I can cook. A little. Nothing fancy. I was thinking scrambled eggs." He looked at the purple bowl on the table, the one filled with tangerines, and added, "Pancakes would be better, but it doesn't look like you don't have enough flour. Unless there's more somewhere else?" he added hopefully, but Winry shook her head, closing her hand around the red mug.

Al smiled. "Yeah, mom used to make us pancakes-"

He was interrupted by the telephone ringing, and all three of them jumped. Ed reached out and picked up the receiver. "Yeah?"

"Lieutenant Elric?" asked the voice.

"Um," said Ed, handing the phone to his brother. "It's for you."

Worry crossed Al's face, and he gave Kaiya back to Winry and took the phone from Ed. "Elric here," he said into it. He frowned, listening, and stepped quickly into the next room, shutting the door and letting the phone chord snake underneath.

Ed stared at the closed door for a moment before stilling his expression and turning back to the counter, cracking eggs into a smaller bowl and finding a fork to stir them with. He turned back over his shoulder. "You're not really mad that I didn't wake up last night, are you?" he asked when he saw Winry looking at him strangely.

"You didn't tell him," she said evenly.

He set the bowl aside and turned to face her fully. "I didn't get a chance to," he admitted, rubbing the back of his head. "I didn't want to ruin things so quickly…"

"I thought you said he would forgive you," she said, half snapping the words.

"I said he _might," _Ed clarified. "Maybe it would be better if you told him."

"I'm not telling him anything," she said, but her voice was uncertain. "He doesn't need to know. You know that's what I think, I've said it a hundred times." Her voice dropped to a whisper, and she looked down at her daughter. "He thinks Kaiya's his daughter, and she very well might be." It was the first time she had admitted this to Ed, although he had known it for a while now. "There's no reason to hurt him by telling him any different."

"We're hurting him by not telling him," Ed hissed. "We're just being selfish, trying to do the easy thing. I don't want to do the easy thing, I want to do the right thing."

Winry looked like she was about to argue further, then she stopped, letting her chin drop to her chest. "What makes you the expert on what's right, Ed?" she asked, not looking up. She watched him turn away from her again, turning the stove on and melting butter in the pan, giving the bowl of eggs a final stir. Then he set the fork down and rubbed at his shoulder and although she could not see his face she knew he was making the same expression as before. "Ed?" she asked quietly. "You okay?"

"Fine," he said stiffly, pressing his fingers into the sore muscles. After a moment he added, "I should tell him."

"Don't," she pleaded, wishing he would turn around. " If I have to, I'll tell him. The whole thing was my fault anyway."

Ed stared at the solidifying eggs, wide eyed. "Your fault?" he echoed.

"Promise me you wont say anything," she pressed, her voice hard.

He turned around to face her. "Promise me you will," he countered.

"You first."

The door flew open, and Al hung up the phone with a clank and an exaggerated sigh, dropping down into one of the chairs and snatching a tangerine from the bowl. He looked from one blonde to the other, feeling the tension in the air. "What happened?" he asked.

"I told you," his brother said, turning back to the stove. "Me and Winry fight a lot."

"About what?" he asked, still puzzled.

"Everything," came the joint answer.

Al looked studiously down at his tangerine, pressing his thumb into the navel and piercing the peel, pulling it away carefully, keeping it in one piece and setting the hollow not-fruit on the table. Al couldn't remember what it was like living with two parents; Hohenheim had left them when he was just a baby, so he didn't know what it felt like when parents fought. Strangely, he thought it might be like this, a tense couple, something unspoken between them, staying silent for the kids.

He shook his head, popping a section of tangerine between his lips. _They're not a couple, _he told himself firmly. _Don't imagine things. Winry's your girlfriend, Kaiya's your daughter, and your brother loves you. He told you before that they fight. They've always fought, _he told himself desperately, even though his memory told him otherwise. _They fought. Sure, they fought. All little boys tease the girls they like. They fought as an excuse to touch each other, pushing and shoving and tackling and pouncing. You did the same thing. You all fought, all three of you. It wasn't like this. _

The milk was warmed now, and when Al looked up, there was a plate of eggs and toast and jam on the table, and his coffee was no longer steaming. Ed was feeding the baby, that same expression of utter calm on his face, and Winry was spreading raspberry jam on her toast. Whatever had passed between them had cleared, and they were a happy family again.

* * *

Al sat on the back of the couch, behind his brother, rubbing his shoulders and back. "Did _he _used to do this for you?" he asked carefully, working to keep any hint of jealousy out of his voice.

Ed shuddered inwardly, leaning into the touch but cringing at the conversation. "_You _used to do this for me, Al, when I had real automail. The cold's always bothered me like this."

"I did?" Al repeated, puzzled. "But I was armor…"

Ed sighed, feeling just a touch of the guilt he had thought he was rid of. "You could still touch me," he told him. "I could feel it, even if you couldn't."

"But- I've seen pictures- I was so huge- didn't I hurt you?"

He smiled to himself. "No, never, Al."

It was evening, and they were sitting together in the living room. Kaiya was awake but quiet, following their voices with her round grey eyes. The radio had been turned on, and Ed listened with interest to the news report, afterwards drilling his brother on the affairs of the country for the last six years. Winry was downstairs in the workshop, trying to make a dent in the jobs that had piled up over the past few weeks.

Al tried again, making sure his voice stayed completely neutral. "Do you think he's all right?" he asked, still careful, intent on coaxing the tension out of his brother's knotted muscles.

"I don't know. I hope so," Ed said tonelessly.

"You don't know?"

Ed shook his head. "No, I don't."

"But," Al pressed, "He was your- you _loved_ him. How can you just say you don't know? Doesn't it bother you?"

Ed pulled away from his brother's hands, turning to sit back into the corner of the couch, looking up at Al, who was still perched on the back, feet on the cushions. "Al," he said seriously. "All that time, it was _you _who I didn't know was all right. It was _you_ who I loved, and you who I thought about all the time. And it did bother me, not knowing whether my sacrifice had worked, whether you were alive or dead or-" he shuddered "-something else."

Al climbed down, sitting cross-legged on the cushions, facing his brother. "Were we the same person?" he asked suddenly, not what he meant to ask at all.

_Yes, _Ed wanted to answer. _No. I don't know. _ "You met him," he said slowly. "What did you think?" When Al didn't answer, he continued. "He wasn't," he said finally. "He wasn't you. He was like you, but he could never be you. He could never share what we shared. He didn't have our memories, he had a completely different life."

"I don't have our memories," Al whispered. "I've forgotten everything."

Ed dropped his head into his hands. "I'm sorry, Al," he said into his lap. "I didn't mean for that to happen. I'll find a way to get them back," he added, picking his head up. "They must be somewhere."

Al shook his head. "No, they're gone," he said, resigned. "I had a soul, when I was armor, but I didn't have a body to store memories in. When I got my body back…" he shrugged sadly. "My body can only remember what it experienced. Not anything else." He looked at Ed, alarmed that the gears in his brain seemed to be whirring into action. "That's what Sensei said, she couldn't have been wrong," he added quickly. "Don't think about doing anything dangerous, Brother." Then, to push the conversation back to where he wanted it, he said, "If you spent ten years with him, he has the same amount of memories of you as I do."

Ed leaned back into the arm of the couch, shaking his head. "I wasn't with him the whole time I was on the other side. I didn't find him until I had been there for years."

"Oh," Al said softly. "You were with Dad," he realized, immediately regretting saying it out loud. He wasn't trying to upset his brother any more than he already had.

Ed nodded, but didn't seem pained, so Al ventured a question.

"What was that like?"

The older brother pressed his lips together, obviously thinking. "Frustrating," he said finally. "I hated him, and he was so… disgusting, and evil," he tried, pausing to gather his thoughts again. "He left us, Al, he left us with mom, all alone. He broke her heart. She _died, _and he never even knew. Never wrote, never cared. It was hard to let go of that, even after he explained why he left." He set his chin on his hand, elbow on his knee. "I don't know if I really ever let go of that. He was a bad guy, Dad was. He did really bad things, even over there. Even to me. It's not like he changed his ways or anything."

Al wanted to ask what kind of things, but Ed continued.

"But he did take care of me, when I had no where to go." He held up his metal hand. "Helped me get this-" knocked on his wooden leg "-and this, so I could get around. Pretend to be a normal person."

"Brother," Al said gently, "you know Winry wants to make you new automail. You should let her. It would be so much better than what you have now."

Ed just shrugged, leaning back into the couch. "I know. She probably can't wait to make a new set. But she's got a lot of stuff to catch up on, she needs to fill the orders for her paying customers first." He looked off to the side. "Besides, the surgery is hell."

It was like dancing, Al thought suddenly. It was like dancing in circles around everything.

But after a moment Ed continued. "It was weird, you know, living with a parent after so long without anyone but you. Didn't really know what to make of it. First time I stayed out late I came home to him sitting up for me. He didn't yell at me, he just said he was worried, and I could see he really was, it was all over his face." A trace of regret flitted over his face. "I yelled at him, actually. I was furious that he dared care where I went at night when he couldn't bring himself to care how we were getting along without him all that time in Rizembool." He was silent, lost in thought, Al was sure, thinking of his time in Germany. Al was startled when his brother spoke again. "Who called for you this morning?" he asked curiously.

"Ah, about that," Al hedged. "Don't answer the phone anymore, Brother. Apparently we sound alike."

"No we don't," Ed scoffed.

"Well, I had a hard time explaining who might have answered the phone that sounds just like me but isn't."

"It's a _crime_ to come back to life?" Ed asked incredulously.

"A lot of people were never really convinced you were dead," Al explained delicately, clearly avoiding key information. Ed would let that slide, this once. "And it is a crime to fake your own death to avoid reporting for duty."

Ed folded his arms. "Huh," he said finally. "But Roy and Hawkeye both know I'm back, and they're pretty important people these days, aren't they? They would never give me away."

Al looked serious. "General Mustang is my commanding officer, and I am loyal to him, of course," he began. "But… I wouldn't trust him, Ed. There's people above him, you know. He might have to tell, eventually." _Or, _Al added privately, _he might decide to tell, if he thinks it would be worth his while. _

Ed just laughed. "I know he's a slimy bastard, Al, but me and Roy go way back, he's always been a manipulative shit. That's what I used to call him, Colonel Shit. Don't worry, we're friends. He wouldn't do anything to get me in trouble."

Al thought that he and the General went way back as well, after all, it was Mustang who had convinced the government to even let him take the State Alchemist exam, and he thought he knew the man fairly well, even better, perhaps, than Ed, although he couldn't be sure. He had the utmost respect for the man, but respect and trust were two entirely different concepts. He chose, however, to keep his concerns private, at least for the time being.

* * *

"Winry?"

She put down the piece of machinery she was working on and jerked her head up. "Look, if you've come down here to lecture me, I don't want to hear it. No, I haven't told him yet. Believe me, you'll know when I do."

Ed looked taken aback at her response. "That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

She threw her hands up. "Is it really right, Ed? Is it really right when all it will do is make us all miserable?"

_We're already miserable. _Or,_ I'm already miserable. _Maybe_ No, it's not right, _or_ Don't tell him, Winry. _Even_ I don't care if it's right, I'm going to tell him because I have a guilty conscience. _All of these were responses she could have expected, but instead he was silent. His eyes were strangely sharp and bright and his skin had an unhealthy pallor to it. "I don't like lying to Al," he said quietly, "But I told you, I don't want to talk about that."

She tilted her head. "We're not lying," she said, equally quiet. "What did you come down here for then?"

He didn't meet her eyes. "D'you have any painkillers?"

She frowned. "They're in the bathroom cabinet, you know that."

He shook his head. "That's just aspirin. Do you have anything in here? You know, that you give people after automail surgery?"

"I have _morphine,_ Ed, but I can't give you that-" she nearly launched into her standard lecture about how automail usually did cause pain and it was important to discuss this pain with the mechanic to determine whether it was caused by a malfunction of the automail or it was simply something the patient would have to get used to, but he held up his hand and shook his head again.

"Fine, I'll just take an aspirin," he said dejectedly, turning to leave the workshop.

"_Edward,_" she growled, making him spin around again. "Get back in here, something's wrong with that piece of crap arm of yours, isn't there?" She stood, hands on her hips, eyes blazing.

He took a step back, seeming to go even a shade paler, if that was possible. "Eh, put the wrench away, Win," he said weakly. "It's nothing, go back to whatever you were doing. I said I'll just take an aspirin."

She grabbed him by his flesh arm, jerking him into the room and pushing him down on her workbench. "There's no need for you to be all macho about this; if you hurt, you hurt! I'm a mechanic, let me see what's wrong!"

Ed clutched his makeshift automail to his chest. "It just gets like this sometimes, it's not a big deal, don't worry about it. It's not that bad."

"You are _going_ to show me what's going on," she said dangerously. "_I'll_ tell you if it's not that bad or not." She began to pull at the collar of his shirt, and he grabbed her wrist with his good hand.

"_I said no!_" he shouted, standing up again and shoving her away.

"Don't push me," she yelled back, blocking his way to the door. "Stop being stupid and sit back down, you idiot!"

He folded his arms in front of himself, the motion in his shoulder making him flinch. "If I show you my arm right now, it will just make you worry," he said crossly. "It's not as bad as it looks. It's just- it's been snowing, and-"

Her glare cut through his excuses. "It snowed two days ago," she snapped, her eyes narrow. "It's perfectly sunny and dry today. What is the matter with you?"

He sighed, not seeming to have the energy to continue the argument. "It looks really bad, Winry," he said finally. "But I swear, it's not that big of a deal. It gets like this every so often. It's completely normal, but there's not really anything you can do about it. So just leave it alone."

"There's not anything _you_ can do about it," she retorted. "_I_ am the mechanic here, what do you know about what I can and can't do?" She softened. "Ed, sit down, just let me take a look at it. I promise I won't freak out. There's probably something I can do about it, and if not, I can give you something if you're really in that much pain-" which judging by his looks he obviously is, she thought to herself- "but I need to know what's causing it so I know what to give you. Please?"

He slumped down on the workbench with another sigh. "I know you, Winry. You're going to freak out," he accused.

She shook her head firmly. "No I won't. I swear," she assured him, and he reluctantly undid the buttons of his shirt, pushing it aside to reveal his mechanical shoulder.

_This is me not freaking out!_ she screamed inside her head. She clenched her teeth and forced herself to breathe deeply. _You promised not to freak out,_ she told herself, _if you scream at him he will never trust you again. _"How- how long has it been like this?" she asked, trying to keep her voice even. The areas where flesh met metal were swollen and streaked with red, puffing out around the edges of the steel plating. Automail ports could get irritated, but not like this. Not swollen enough to actually dislodge some of the metal parts, which was what it looked like was happening here. She touched his skin gently and he hissed, drawing his lips back and squeezing his eyes shut. "Well?"

"A few days," he said under his breath.

"This is really bad, Ed," she said, forcing herself to stay calm. "It looks infected."

"A doctor in Germany gave me some cream to use when it got like this, and some pills. Don't you have anything like that?"

Winry frowned, hands on her hips. "That's not very specific, you know. I have some antibiotic cream, but-" she hesitated, not wanting provoke another shouting match "-look, you're not going to like this, but I know what I'm talking about, so just hear me out, all right?"

"Okay," he said warily.

"I understand that where you were, automail didn't exist, so you had to use whatever was available," she began slowly, "but I would never dream of using this type of metal for automail, and there's a reason for that: it irritates the body. I think you should let me remove it completely, like I've told you before, and I know you don't want to do that right now. But at least let me detach it, to take the strain off your nerves because they're irritated enough as it is." She lightly fingered the plating that was pressing into the flesh, and looked at him questioningly. "I'll leave the port mostly intact, at least where it connects the nerves, but I really want to remove the supports, and if the limb isn't attached you really don't need them. You built this, these plates can come off separately, cant they?"

He groaned, pressing his palm to his forehead. "I thought you would say something like that," he grumbled. "I never had to take it off before."

"Well I don't know what that doctor gave you, but it's not anything I have, and it's my professional opinion that leaving that arm attached while it's irritated like this could permanently damage you," she said firmly.

"Win, you said that when it wasn't like this too, and I told you, it's fine," he protested.

"You don't know that," she snapped. "You don't know what it's doing to your nerves, and neither do I, but I can guess." After a moment she added, her voice low, "there's also the possibility that what worked in that other world works differently here. How long did you say you've had this?"

"Eight years, about," he said through gritted teeth.

Winry shook her head. "It just seems impossible that your body could tolerate something like this for so long." She ran her fingers over the bolts digging into his shoulder again. "I think I can see how to detach it-"

He twisted his head around, trying to see the back of his own shoulder, and reached his human hand over to feel what he couldn't see. With a heavy sigh, he gave in to her insisting and indicated a small mechanism sunken down into the back of where his shoulder blade should have been, saying, "turn this notch first, it disconnects the nerves."

* * *

He felt her warm, lightly callused palm on his forehead and his eyes flew open, sitting up before he was completely awake. "What are you doing?" he demanded hotly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

Winry laughed at him. "I'm checking to make sure you don't have a fever," she said lightly, crossing the room and yanking the chord that opened the blinds, flooding the room with mid morning sun. "You don't, by the way, so get your ass out of bed."

He glanced at the empty space in the bed next to him. "Where'd Al go?" he asked, still not fully awake.

"Al got up a few hours ago, like a normal person," she teased. "He went to pick up some groceries at the market. How's your arm?"

His eyes narrowed. "I dunno, I assume it's still sitting in your workshop, why don't you go check on it?"

She sat down on the bed next to him, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt until he pushed her hand away. "You know what I meant," she protested. "Lemme see."

Without a word he pulled the shirt off with his one hand and looked at her challengingly. "Well?" he demanded.

"Better," she proclaimed. "Take some more of those anti-inflammatory pills I gave you." She pressed lightly on the pale, shiny skin that had been hidden under metal until the previous night. "The swelling's really going down. We can put it back on tomorrow as long as it doesn't get worse again, but I don't see why it would."

"Fine," he said under his breath, grabbing his pillow and laying back down. He reached for the blanket but she snatched it away.

She grabbed the pillow with both hands and yanked it out from under his head. "You are _not_ going back to sleep, Ed!" she said, laughing.

He sat up again, fuming, and grabbed her around the waist and pulled her, with his pillow, down onto the bed and wrestled it out of her grasp, but it was clear that going back to sleep was a lost cause.

Suddenly the wrench appeared in her hand, _where did that come from? _he wondered vaguely, and he ducked, dodging her half hearted blow. She didn't really intend to hurt him, but she did wake him from a perfectly blissful sleep, and that was offense enough, he decided. He had her wrist pinned to the edge of the bed with his knee and was attempting to pry her fingers from their death grip around her precious tool, but having the advantage of having two hands to fight with she snaked her other arm around and poked him sharply under the ribs where she knew he was ticklish.

He yelped and involuntarily jumped, freeing her hand and nearly toppling off the bed. He reached out to grab hold of her again, snickering when he realized what part he had managed to get a hold of. The wrench came crashing down on his head before he could even remove his hand from her breast, and she sat up on her knees in the middle of the bed, fury radiating from her being. "Quit fighting dirty, Edward!" she yelled, shaking the wrench above her head.

The sight was so comical that he collapsed down onto the tangle of sheets and blankets, cackling maniacally, and said, "Oh, come on, Win, you didn't object last time I did that!" He narrowed his eyes haughtily. "You know you liked it."

Her expression froze for a moment, and then a giggle escaped her. She flopped down on top of him, trying to suppress her own laughter. "Don't tempt me, Ed…"

"Besides," he continued, his lips twisting up in a smirk, their faces almost touching, "who's the one who's fighting dirty here? _I'm_ the cripple, what exactly is fair about you attacking me like that?"

"Well I wouldn't have to attack you if you'd just get out of bed," she retorted, laughing, but making no move to get up.

Ed laughed dryly and pushed her off, leaning over the edge of the bed to retrieve the wooden leg and began to untangle the straps. Winry reached up from where she lay and moved her fingers lazily across his back, through the ends of his hair, wishing suddenly that every moment between them could be like this one.

They both jumped at the sound of his voice. "I thought you said you'd have him up by the time I got home," Al said from the doorway, his eyes dancing. He leaned, arms folded, against the doorframe. "How's your arm feel, brother?"

He wasn't expecting the oppressive silence that immediately settled over the room, or the brilliant shades of red that crept up both their faces. Winry sprung up off the bed at once and started fussing with the curtains that she had already pulled back.

"What's with you two?" Al asked, puzzled. "You're acting like I caught you in bed together or something."

Ed pulled sharply on the buckle that held his prosthetic leg in place and stood up, making his way to the dresser and jerking open one of the drawers. "Well, technically, you did, Al, although all Winry really wanted from me was the opportunity to bash me in the head while I couldn't fight back, on account of being short two limbs," he said darkly, not looking at him. "Like the selfish bitch that she is," he added, pushing past his brother and heading down the stairs, not even bothering to put on the clothes he held bundled up in his hand.

Winry stood by the window, staring at his back as he left, her expression hurt, and Al crossed the room, wrapping a hesitant arm around her. "He didn't mean that," he assured her after a moment. "He's just hurting, it puts him in a bad mood."

She didn't speak up to correct him, deciding it was better to let him think that than to tell him the truth.

* * *

Ed was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, shaking the brightly colored wooden keys above Kaiya and smiling to himself as he watched her kick her feet and wave her hands at them, squealing adorably. She was perfect, he thought to himself. Absolutely and completely perfect. Her hair was starting to grow in, and it was a light bronze color, a little lighter than Al's, but her eyes seemed different every day. Sometimes it looked like they would be a light, luminous grey like Al's, but other days he could see flecks of gold in them, almost like his own. He remembered his mother telling him once that Al's eyes had been blue until he was almost two, but that his had always been gold.

Alphonse knelt down behind him, pressing his chin to his brother's good shoulder. "You should apologize to Winry," he said softly. "I think you hurt her feelings this morning."

Ed set the keys down on the blanket next to the baby and turned to face him. "Did she say that?" he asked.

Al shook his head. "No, but I could tell she was upset."

"So let her be upset," he muttered, looking down at his lap.

"Ed," his bother protested, "how can you be that mad at her just because she wanted you to get up? It was almost noon, for god's sakes!"

_Tell him,_ the voice in his head pressed. _Tell him, he's your brother and he loves you. He's not going to let this come between you. _"She knows why I'm mad at her," he said distantly. _You never could lie to your little brother, what makes you think things will be any different now?_

Al sat back on his heels, regarding his brother intently. "Something's not right between you two," he said finally. "I can tell. What's going on?"

"Why don't you ask her?" Ed said bluntly, not at all expecting the response he got.

"I did," Al said simply. "She told me to talk to you."

"She did what?" he sputtered, anger rising again. _She made me swear I wouldn't tell him, she made me all but promise to lie to my only brother, and now she puts this all on me? _ "That bitch," he said through clenched teeth. "She's the one who told me not to tell you."

"Tell me what?" Al said, suspicion creeping into his voice.

Ed stood up, using the arm of the couch for support. "Do you think Kaiya will be all right if we leave her upstairs for a while? We could turn on the mobile or something," he said, his voice strained. "We should go for a walk."

Al frowned. "I guess so. If she starts crying, Winry will probably hear, although she might be mad when she realizes you're not watching her. She doesn't like to be interrupted when she's working. Why do you want to go for a walk though?"

"She's going to be mad either way," he muttered, not answering. The baby was watching them from her blanket on the floor, her eyes round as saucers. "Kaiya, you like your mobile, right?" he said to her. Then he turned to Al apologetically. "Al, can you pick her up? I'm afraid I'll drop her with just one hand."

Al knelt immediately, picking the baby up gently and wrapping her with the blanket she had been laying on. Wordlessly, Ed followed his brother up the stairs and watched him lay Kaiya in the crib and switch on the mobile. Her expression immediately brightened and she began to coo as the bright shapes passed through her vision. He leaned over the bars of the crib, looking the baby in the eyes. "Now, you're happy, right? Cause I wouldn't put it past you to start crying as soon as me and Al leave, just to get me in trouble. I bet you think it's funny when your mother yells at me," he accused fondly, and Al giggled nervously.

"Brother, she can't understand you, you know. She's only a few weeks old," he protested.

Ed held his finger out to the baby and let her grab it tightly. "I bet she does. Don't you notice how happy she gets when Winry whacks me with that wrench?" He turned around. "Let's go."

Once they were out of the house Al said, "What's going on, brother? What is such a big deal that we have to go outside for you to tell me?"

Ed sighed. "There's a little stream by the forest at the edge of town. I know you like to sit by the water when you're upset."

"Am I going to be upset?"

"Yes."

The brothers walked in strained silence through the center of town. Ed seemed oblivious but Al noticed the stares they drew from the people they passed. Maybe it was Al they were staring at, as they sometimes did. There were probably a few stories drifting around about their resident State Alchemist, after all. Maybe it was Ed's missing arm that caught their attention, or maybe they saw the resemblance between the brothers and made the connection if they hadn't already and would feed the rumors that had begun to circulate about the return of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

After a tense half hour they arrived at the stream Edward had spoken of, and sat down side by side on a huge tree stump by the water's edge, eyeing each other warily.

"I'm not mad at Winry for waking me up this morning," Ed started, looking out over the trickling water. "I love Winry, almost as much as I love you. And she loves you. And neither of us want to do anything to hurt you. I didn't mean to hide this from you, but I didn't know how to tell you, and I didn't think Winry wanted me to tell you."

Al's expression caused his heart to ache, when would he ever stop hurting the people he loved? "Tell me _what?_" Al asked urgently, his brow creased with worry.

Ed looked away again. "I know you and Winry have a relationship. I'm not trying to come between you two-" _liar,_ his mind accused, but he forced himself to press on "-but," he raised his eyes to face his brother, and took a deep breath. "The night I came home," he began, "Winry and I, we, ah, we slept together…"

"Oh," Al said softly, and Ed stopped. He watched his brother counting mentally backwards. "Oh." His eyes widened. "Oh."

Each waited for the other to speak.

"That's not what I thought you were going to tell me," Al said finally.

Ed frowned, glancing over at him. "What did you think it was?"

"I knew you both were hiding something from me," he said slowly. "but I thought-" his head dropped down into his hands. "It was always you and Winry. When we were kids I had such a crush on her, but I always thought she would pick you. It felt so wrong to me that I was with her, when you were gone, and I was so afraid it was because she was pretending I was you or something, but she said she wasn't, and I tried to believe her. I thought you were going to tell me that she really does love you more, and now that you're back you want to be together, but you didn't know how to tell me." He looked up, pleading with his eyes for Ed to tell him that wasn't true.

Most of the time he was with Al, Ed didn't really feel like he was ten years older than his brother. They were so intent on making up for lost time and usually he felt like he, too, was seventeen again. But in this moment, he suddenly felt those extra years weighing down on his soul. "Al," he began, not sure exactly how to explain what he knew to be true. "There are a lot of ways to love someone," he said finally. "I do love Winry. And… I love the "other" Alphonse," he said, using his brother's term for the man who had been his lover. "I've loved a lot of people, I guess. But no one even comes close to the way I love you. You're everything to me. I love you more than I've ever loved anyone." He sighed, searching his brother's face for some kind of understanding. "I would never do anything to hurt you," he said desperately. "You're my entire world. It was just that one night, Al, and I swear to you, I didn't know about you and her. If you're angry –and you have every right to be angry- if you're angry, please don't be angry with me. You need to talk to Winry about it."

Al was twisting his hands in his lap, his teeth pressing into his lower lip. "I'm not angry with either of you," he said, standing up. "It was just that one night." He frowned. "It's so _weird_," he said then, and Ed raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Every time I looked at Kaiya, all I could think was how she looked so much like you."

"She doesn't," Ed protested. "And besides, she could still be your daughter-" he started, but Al shook his head.

"Maybe not," he said firmly. "Maybe she's yours. Every time I saw you two together, it was like you shared something with her that I just couldn't. I thought it was because I'm too young to have a child, and you're so old-"

Ed drew his eyebrows together. "I'm not that old!" he protested.

"But you're an adult, brother, and I thought maybe that's what it was, but its not. Maybe she's yours and Winry's daughter, and that's why I feel like that."

Ed shook his head. "Don't say it that way," he protested. "Who knows what it's _supposed _to feel like? I feel like _I'm _too young to have a daughter too, I'd probably make the worst father in the world, but that doesn't mean anything. She's… she's ours, I guess," he ended lamely, knowing that was the most unsatisfying, insufficient conclusion but unable to come up with anything better.

Al held his hand out to his brother, and Ed took it, standing up. "I love you, Ed," he said, pulling him in close for a hug. "I always will, there's nothing you can do to make me stop. We've been through worse things, right? You didn't know," he said firmly, making himself believe it. "She didn't tell you. Maybe it's just something she… I don't know. Felt like she had to do. She missed you so _much."_ He turned, not facing his brother. "Let's go back home."

_You're an adult too, Al,_ Ed thought to himself. _You've always been the adult, not me. Even with ten years between us, you're still the mature one. I always wanted to take care of you, but it's always been you taking care of me._

"I just wish Winry had told me," Al said, interrupting his thoughts. They walked side by side through the town in the late afternoon light.

"Yeah," said Ed. "I know exactly how you feel."

* * *

**Author's Note**: No, that's not the last of it. Al's a nice guy, but he's only human, not a saint. It's easy to say something's all right; it's much harder to actually believe it. 


	4. Chapter Three: Conversations in the Dark

**Chapter Three: Conversations in the Dark**

Winry flicked off the light in her workshop, changing the air immediately to soft silvers and greys. She paused for a moment, looking out the clouded glass of the window at the snow-covered sleeping town. There was no movement outside, and the moon was high and chill, small and round in the sky, bouncing dusky silver off the snow and into the room. Sighing, she began to head up the dark staircase into the rest of the house, pausing on the landing before continuing up to the top floor and looking across the living room at the back of the couch. "Ed?" she called quietly. Ed often stayed up late into the night and ended up falling asleep with a book over his face, and she crossed the room, intending to switch off the reading lamp and tell him to go sleep upstairs. "Hey, why don't you-"

But it wasn't Ed on the couch at all, it was Al, curled up with a blanket and a book, awake and reading. He shut the volume carefully and sat up half-way, pulling the blanket closer around him. "Hm?" he murmured, raising his eyes to her.

Winry leaned over the back of the couch, letting her long hair fall over her shoulders. "Come to bed, Al, it's two am," she said tiredly.

Al shook his head. "I'm sleeping in here tonight."

Winry raised her eyebrows. "Why?" she asked, startled.

Al looked off to the side, not meeting her eyes, suddenly uncomfortable. "Brother said he would sleep down here, since he falls asleep down here half the time anyway, but I felt bad since he's been so sore recently. I said he could keep sleeping in my bed and I'd sleep down here, at least tonight," he hedged, avoiding the real question.

She frowned. "So, all of a sudden you don't want to share the bed or something?" she asked then, trying to make her voice light but unable to hide her puzzlement. Since the first night they had both been home together, the brothers had both slept intertwined, she had seen them when she passed Al's room, and thought nothing of it. They had done the same thing when they were kids, in fact, all three of them had been known to fall asleep in a pile, when they were kids.

Al was still looking pointedly away at a picture frame on the far wall. "We just decided… that it might be better… to sleep… apart," he stuttered out awkwardly.

"Okay," she said finally, understanding at least that whatever had happened was not going to be shared with her. "Still," she added, a bit hesitant, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest, _why so nervous?_ "Why don't you just sleep with me?" Her face flushed as soon as she spoke, her words sounding dirty, suddenly, and wrong.

Al just shook his head, pulling the blanket tighter around him and pressing himself into the corner of the couch. "No, I'm fine down here," he said quietly.

"I didn't mean-" she stammered, feeling her flush growing, "-I meant, just sleep, you know, we don't have to do anything-" she stopped, mid-sentence, realizing as she spoke what felt so off about her suggestion. _It's not like we haven't slept in each other's beds before_ would have been the rest of her words. She opened her mouth to say- something, anything, some kind of excuse, but there was nothing.

"I don't want to sleep near you." His voice was cold.

"Ed told you," she whispered, feeling her heart clench and sink like lead into the pit of her stomach.

"Did you think he wouldn't have?" Al hissed. "We're brothers, do you really think he would hide something like that from me?"

Winry shook her head numbly.

"Do you think I couldn't tell there was something strange going on the minute we found you in the hospital?" he continued. "We're-" he stopped, pausing, teeth clenched. "What _are_ we, Winry? Lovers? Siblings? Friends? Whatever we're calling it, just how long were you going to wait before talking to me?"

"It just- it just _happene_d one day," she said softly, slowly. "He just showed up, and it happened so fast, we-"

Al shook his head in disgust, holding up his hand to halt her explanation. "I don't care," he said sharply. "I don't want to hear about how it happened. I know you've been in love with him all along; you never denied it and I never asked you to." His bronze eyes flashed with anger. "But _I'm_ the one who's been here for you all this time, _I'm_ the one that never let my goals or my work or my job keep us apart for too long, and _I'm the one who's loved you back!_ Doesn't that mean _anything_ to you?" he cried, his eyes bright and his face splotched with redness.

She wanted to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close to her and be his source of comfort like she had been so many times before, but she found herself drawing back in horror of herself. "Al," she began, but he cut her off.

"Go away," he said brokenly, his words trampling over her fallen heart. "Go upstairs, go wake Ed up and get yourself pregnant again in my bed, I don't care, just leave me alone."

She just stared at him, unmoving, unblinking, unspeaking, for several minutes before she forced herself to walk around the couch and sit down next to him. "That will never happen," she said quietly. "It's not something that will ever happen again."

The look he gave her was full of such condescension and disgust that she felt as if he had physically struck her. "I don't care," he repeated. "You can do whatever you want, I'm not keeping you away from him," he said, and his words stung. He waved his hand between them, gesturing to the invisible-and-fraying bond. "This was never- we were never anything, were we? Not to you."

Tears began to spring up in her eyes, but his face did not soften. _We were never anything?_ "That's not true," she whispered.

"What do you know," he said, his voice cold, "about truth?"

She stood, opening her mouth to defend herself, then closed it without speaking. "I'm sorry," she whispered instead. "I'm sorry, Al. I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did."

"I know." What else could she say? She felt as if she was standing before God, not Al, not in her own house but in the great hereafter, receiving the final judgment and being found horribly, irreparably lacking.

Bronze eyes stared up at here. "Weren't you going to bed?" he said pointedly, picking up the book again and opening it to the page he had marked. _I'm the one who's loved you back. _The words echoed through her mind as she turned, wordless, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom.

* * *

When she awoke it was pitch black, the clouds having covered the moon, and her heart was pounding. An unfounded sense of fear seized her stomach, and she could not shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. Her first thought was for Kaiya, and she flung herself out of bed, shoving the blankets aside before she was even completely awake and stumbling to the bassinet.

Which was empty.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she flew out of the room _what was going on?_ only to come to a halt in her doorway.

Gold eyes, glinting like a cat's in the darkness, met hers from the other end of the hall. Ed was pacing slowly up and down the hall, holding Kaiya tightly to his chest.

"Ed?" she whispered.

"I said I would try to wake up," he whispered back, rocking the baby slightly back and forth as he moved closer to her. "Remember?" When he stopped in front of her doorway the baby's closed eyes slit open and her tiny face screwed up, gearing up to cry. He looked down, rocking her gently and turning to pace slowly back down the hall. Winry followed after him, trailing only a foot or so behind, and when he turned at the other end she reached for her daughter, taking her into her own arms. She remained silent.

"Did you give her her bottle?" she asked softly in the dark.

Ed nodded. "She would only quiet down if I was moving, I couldn't get her to go back to sleep. It must have been you she wanted," he said, shrugging. "I can't believe she didn't wake you up," he added.

She tried to push away the feeling of terror she had awakened with, but it would not subside. "Where's Al?" she asked next.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Downstairs," he said. "On the couch."

"Are you sure?" she pressed, leaning over the railing to peer down into the dark house.

"Shouldn't I be?" he asked, puzzled.

She could make out his form, in the black and grey of the shadows, curled on the couch, and breathed a sigh of relief. "I had this terrible feeling that something was missing," she explained hesitantly, feeling suddenly silly. "It must have been a bad dream."

Ed touched his finger to Kaiya's soft cheek, looking down at her for a moment. "Is she sleeping now?" he asked quietly.

Winry rocked her back and forth, nodding slightly. "Did you and Al fight?" she asked in the darkness, and could feel his surprise.

"No," he said simply.

"I tried to talk to him earlier," she said, the words tumbling from her and out into the air between them, continuing, "but I just didn't know what to say, I thought he would be angry, and I was ready for that, but he's _not_, he's just _sad,_ and I don't know what to do, I feel terrible, and I don't know what to say," she repeated, a desperate tone creeping into her voice.

She felt a warm hand on her back, rubbing slowly up and down. "Say you're sorry," he said gently. "Say it was a mistake, and we'll never do it again."

"A mistake?" she repeated numbly.

He nodded behind her. "It was a mistake, and it didn't mean anything," he said firmly, careful to keep his own conflict out of his voice.

_A mistake?_ she screamed inwardly. _A mistake?_

_He's always said it was a mistake. The very next morning he said he regretted it. He didn't even spend the night with me, he left to sleep downstairs as soon as we were done. _She held her child closer to her chest, watching her tiny form rise and fall with each breath. _I knew that, and even then I wasn't sorry it happened. _

"I can't say that," she whispered, and she felt his hand leave her back, dropping to his side.

_He's been in love with someone else all along. Someone he'll never see again. _Minutes passed in silence as she started down at her daughter, her beautiful daughter, and listened to Ed breathing behind her. "Do you love him?" he asked finally, the words staying in the air even after he spoke.

"Yes."

"Then tell him that."

* * *

Al snatched the phone out of his brother's hand as soon as he picked it up, glaring at him. "Hello?" he said, using his most official voice. "Yes, hold on one moment please," he said as a response, setting the phone down and opening the downstairs door and calling, "Winry! Customer on the phone!"

They both heard her feet pounding on the stairs before they saw her, and she scooped up the phone, saying brightly, "Winry Rockbell, Rockbell Automail, how can I help you?" She plopped down in one of the kitchen chairs, propping her feet up on the table, chattering excitedly away about her newest services.

Ed narrowed his eyes at his brother. "Her customer might have recognized my voice and alerted the press that the Fullmetal Alchemist is back," he said sarcastically.

"Brother!" Al said, exasperated. "Take this seriously! There's already a ton of rumors, we don't need to do anything else to feed them."

"I am taking it seriously, but I can't hide forever. Can I?" he added doubtfully. "I mean, you said there's already rumors, and I've barely left the house since I've been back."

"You were seen in East City. One reporter even claims to have photographed you."

Ed just shrugged. "It was Roy's idea to parade me around East City with him, he said it would be fine, and for all I know, it was. I saw that photo: it's old. I must have been fourteen in the picture. You don't want me to answer the phone, but you do want me to come to Central with you. Make up your mind, Al!"

His brother sighed elaborately. "That's different," he said patiently, having explained himself many times before. "We're going to see people in Central who already know you're back, or who we can trust not to tell anyone. Yeah, it's true that around here you have a lot of fans, but believe me, the rest of the country isn't like that. It's better not to fan the flames, okay?"

Ed groaned. "Right, right, you've said that before. But Al, when we go to Central, who isn't going to recognize me? If you're traveling around with someone who looks like an older version of you, who else could it possibly be?"

"We'll just be careful, Brother, that's all," Al assured him. "Don't you _want_ to come to Central with me?" he asked suddenly. He had just assumed Ed would want to go with him, he hadn't thought to ask him.

"Of course," Ed answered promptly. "Of course, I'd like to be able to see you perform at the examination, too, but I guess that would be too dangerous, right?" He sighed, resigned, and leaned back against the wall, smiling fondly. "My little brother's so famous," he said then. "I'd really like to see your alchemy in action. Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist."

Al shrugged this off. "Eh, you've seen my alchemy," he said off-handedly. "It's nothing you can't do, too, I'm sure."

Ed raised his eyebrows. "I don't think I ever had an occasion to transmute a part of my soul into an inanimate object," he told his brother.

He looked grave suddenly. "Sometimes I wish I couldn't," he said quietly. "It's a talent that the military likes to take advantage of."

Winry hung up the phone, glanced at the brothers and went back downstairs, and Ed was glad to have at least one source of tension leave the room again. Things had been very strained between them for the past few days. He knew that Al did not, under any circumstances, want to discuss his involvement with the military, and for the most part Ed respected that. He knew the military and knew, even if Al did not come right out and say it, that he must have been involved with things he wasn't proud of. But, he reasoned, he must have done a lot of good, too, to have earned the reputation he did.

He switched back to a safe topic of conversation, one that did not involve Winry or the military. "I can't wait to see Mrs. Hughes," he said. "Her pies are amazing. You've had them, I'm sure?"

Al nodded enthusiastically. His brother's love of Mrs. Hughes' pie had become nearly legendary. In fact, everything about Ed had become nearly legendary in his quest for information about his missing years with his brother. His methodical mind was still cataloguing all the differences between the man and the legend, fitting them in there with differences between the legend and the boy he grew up with. The biggest strain was the jump from boy to man, forget the legend he did not remember. "Elysia likes to tell people she remembers seeing you the day she was born. Of course, that's impossible, but I guess it makes a good story," he said then, thinking of the enthusiastic ten year old with the penchant for showing him her photo albums.

Both brothers jumped when the phone rang again, and both of them leaped for it, but Al, being the faster one, got his hand on it first, only to have a startled expression cross his face. "It's for you," he said, eyebrows drawn together in puzzlement. "It's General Mustang." He wondered at the immediate smile that flashed across his brother's face, but shrugged and handed Ed the phone.

"Roy?" he heard his brother say as he stretched the chord to reach through the doorway into the next room. "Yeah, I'm doing all right. Well, things are a little tense around here, but we're all doing okay. How are you?" Then Ed pulled the door shut around the chord, and the conversation was muffled.

Al stared at the door for a moment, part of him briefly wondering yet again exactly what kind of relationship his brother and the General had. He supposed, as two boys without parents, they had collected mother and father figures throughout their journeys together. He certainly had when he was on his own, otherwise he never would have been as successful as he was. In his own mind, he had always believed that the General (who had been a Colonel when he first entered Al's own memory) had been a kind of father figure to both of them, if not a bit misguided here and there, but he of course knew the stories about the General and his brother having an affair. Was it possible? Given the way Al had seen them interact, he doubted it.

The other part of him dwelled on the words Ed had spoke,_ things are a little tense around here. _That was the understatement of the century. He felt overwhelming guilt pressing in on him for the things he had said to Winry, and the way he had avoided speaking to her the past few days. He tried talking to his brother about it, but Ed had told him he of all people had no reason to feel guilty. _Still, Brother, she said she was sorry, and I told her to go away. _Ed had nearly exploded. _Al, you're not a saint, stop trying to be one! It's all right to be upset with her, and it's all right to be upset with me! _Still, he felt he was responsible for the next move towards easing the tension in their household.

"Oh," he heard behind him, and spun around. Lost in his thoughts as he was, Al had not heard her come back up the stairs. "I thought the phone was for me again."

Her eyes darted from side to side, almost as if she was afraid of him. _Well, let her be,_ he thought fiercely. _Let her be afraid I'll never speak to her again, let her be afraid I think she's a horrible person. I'm a powerful alchemist, she wont be the first person to fear me._ "It was General Mustang. Brother is talking to him in the other room," he said, keeping his voice level.

She raised her eyebrows hesitantly.

"I guess they are planning to get together in Central, or something."

"Kaiya wants to be a mechanic when she grows up," Winry said suddenly.

Al looked at her blankly. "Huh?"

"She loves my wrench," she said, her tone bright, false. "And when I'm hammering things, she waves it around with this big grin on her face-"

"Winry, I have to ask you something," he said abruptly, cutting at once through her chatter, looking back over his shoulder at the phone chord trailing under the door.

She did that flick with her eyes again, side to side, but nodded. "Anything," she said quietly, suddenly subdued.

"All this time that we've been together, was I only second best?" he asked, his voice thin, stretching out across the room, not caring if the question was fair.

"No," she said, and she sounded honest. "No, Al, you weren't second best. You were the only one."

"The only one you loved, or the only one who was _there_?" he pressed painfully.

She tried to look away, but he moved everywhere her eyes wandered, finally grasping her by the shoulders. "Please, just answer me," he implored her. "I have to know. I'm tired of you both hiding things from me!"

She put her hands up to her shoulders, taking his in her own, holding them in front of her. She pulled him over to the table, sitting down, and he followed, taking the chair across from her and not dropping her hands. "I don't think it really matters how I feel about your brother," she said finally, leaning across the table, searching his face for some kind of understanding. "You were right, what you said before. You _are_ the one who loves me back. I_ do_ love Ed, we're best friends, the three of us are, we always have been, of course we love each other." They were Ed's words, the same answer Ed had given when he asked. _I love her. I'm not in love with her._ Could he gauge her sincerity? Could he gauge the sincerity of anyone he loved, when all he wanted was to believe them? "Your brother…" she began, her voice trailing off. "Ed isn't attracted to women."

Al scoffed, pulling his hands out of hers. "Yes he is. He is attracted to you," he said bitterly. "Even a fool can see that."

"No, he's not," she said seriously. "He- in that other place, he had a lover. A man. He told me."

Al looked away suddenly. "Yeah, I know about that," he said stiffly. "I met him."

"Really?" Winry asked, her curiosity momentarily blotting out her discomfort. "You did?""

He eyed her suspiciously. "Brother never told you?"

"Not really. I never asked," she admitted. "Was he… was he good to him?"

_Good to him? That's what I am known for, right? Being good?_ "He was… like me," Al said slowly.

"Like you?" Winry repeated, confused.

"Yeah." She watched him swallow, look away, push his chair away from the table, hearing it scrape across the tile floor.

When it became apparent that Al was not going to share anything else with her, she took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue the conversation. "I just want things to go back to the way they were before," she said quietly

He fixed his eyes on her own, grey as steel and full of emotion. "Things will never go back to the way they were before," he said roughly. "That's impossible, always has been, for everything. Why would you want to go back to a lie?"

"Because it wasn't a lie. I do love you, Al, and I don't want to lose you."

He wanted to smile, and looked down. _There. That was what he had wanted to hear. Why didn't it feel the way he thought it would?_

He turned away from her. "You're not going to lose me," he said, his tone unreadable. "I'm right here. I always will be. For Kaiya, because she's my daughter, and if she isn't, I love her as if she was. I'm not going anywhere. If nothing else, we're still a family." He pressed his hands on his knees, standing up with a heavy sigh. "I'm going upstairs," he said, as if the conversation had never happened. "I've got some things to look over before we leave for Central. Everyone expects something really impressive for the exams, and I'm going to give it to them."

* * *

"How's the baby?" Roy asked into the phone, half just to make conversation and half out of genuine curiosity. He sat at his desk, mounds of paperwork that had been piling up around him for the past few weeks surrounding him, and he found himself looking forward to the Elric's visit enough to make a phone call. When had he gotten this restless? He had only been back in the office a month, having joined General Hawkeye in secret operations just after returning from Ishbal with Edward.

"She's beautiful, Roy, she's amazing, you have no idea," Ed gushed, "and she looks like a baby Winry, you know, just like her baby pictures, and of course we'll have to bring all the pictures we took so you can see them when we come to Central-"

"Ed," Roy interrupted, breaking off the flow of praise for the tiny child, "you're bringing the baby. I don't need to see pictures of her if I get to see her in real life, too."

"Oh," came the subdued response, followed by a soft laugh at his own enthusiasm, but Roy didn't really hear it.

_Oh, but how can you not want to see as many Elysias as possible? Seeing the pictures will only make you realize how much more beautiful she is in real life! Wait until you have one of your own, Roy, you'll understand then! _

"Hey," the voice on the phone crackled. "Hey, Roy, you still there? Hey!"

"I'm here," he said softly into the receiver, staring down at the green blotter on his desk.

"Listen, Al's real concerned about people recognizing me, I didn't think it was that big of a deal, but I trust his judgment, of course. So, you really think it's all right for us all to meet at a restaurant? I mean, you're pretty high profile yourself, and between you and Al-"

Roy leaned his forehead onto his hand. "I'll think of something," he said, suddenly weary. "General Hawkeye really wants to be able to see you all, especially- well, especially with the state of things, right now," he finished delicately. "And she's going to be in town-"

"Ah ha!" Ed cried accusingly. "You don't want to see us at all, bastard, you just wanted to get together with her! I knew it was something like that, I knew you aren't really that nice!" The words were suspicious but the tone was fond, and Roy chuckled.

"I've seen plenty of her, Ed, more than I care to, actually," he told the phone, glancing toward the darkening office window. It got dark earlier in the fall, he knew, but really, when had he gotten around to wasting so much time? There was still so many orders to sign, so many forms to review, he would definitely be working late that evening.

"Yeah, yeah, the top secret thing, I know. But that's just work. You're just looking for a way to get her to have dinner with you."

"Okay, that's_ enough_, Fullmetal," he said firmly, using his military name, trying to gain some kind of control of the conversation. "I have a lot of work to do, I don't have time to waste arguing with you about my love life."

"Hey!" Ed protested from Winry's living room in Altenburg. "You called me, bastard! I'm not trying to waste your time!"

"I'm a very busy man," he said coolly. "Just because I took some time out of my busy schedule to see how you were doing doesn't mean I have time to be subjected to your relentless-"

"Fine! Fine, forget it, you're_ not_ trying to scheme a way to take her to dinner, whatever, Roy," Ed said good-naturedly. "Listen, I'll see you next week, all right? Bye."

There was a click and the line went dead. Roy raised his eye to the window again. The sun had already set, but there was still a bit of light left in the sky, turning everything an eerie blue. _What's it feel like to be a father, Ed?_ he asked in his head. _Maes, what's it like to be a father? Is it really the best feeling in the world?_

_Just wait until you have kids of your own, Roy, then you'll understand._

"Yo, General," said a voice from the doorway.

Roy turned his gaze forward again, nodding to Havoc in greeting.

"You got those forms for intelligence yet? I was thinking about cutting out early today, but I gotta go over them before I can leave," the man said, slouching against the doorframe, cigarette, as always, dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"I haven't quite gotten to them," the General hedged, "but they're in the pile with everything else I have to finish today." He frowned. "And don't smoke in my office, Lieutenant," he added. "I don't want ash on my carpet."

Havoc smirked. "I'm not in your office," he said wryly. "See?" He gestured to his feet, which, sure enough, were clearly on the other side of the doorway. "I'm merely next to your office, and can smoke as much as I want." That said, he waltzed into the room, flopping down in one of the leather chairs in front of Roy's desk, propping his feet up right next to the fancy row of fountain pens in their hand-made holder and blowing out a stream of smoke at the ceiling, watching Roy's eyebrow twitch and all but daring him to object. "You seen the papers recently?" he asked innocently.

"Hm? The papers? Of course, why?"

Havoc tossed a folded paper, several days old, onto the center of the desk and snatched up a bowl of paperclips to flick the end of his cigarette into.

"Oh, that," Roy said neutrally, choosing to ignore the conversion of office supply to ashtray.

"Yeah, that," Havoc echoed. FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SPOTTED IN EAST CITY, read the headline. _Still bean sized after six years_ read the subline. Roy groaned. _God, has Ed read this? Has he blown the roof off yet?_

"This one," he said, pointing to the picture on the left, "is more than eight years old. He can't be more than fourteen in that picture; in fact, I remember when it was taken. You and I were standing just to the left there, out of the frame."

Havoc was nodding. "Yeah, I remember that, but what about this one, eh?"

Roy barely glanced at it. "That's Alphonse," he lied, his voice polished. A little too polished.

It was a grainy photo, at best, but Roy could tell it had been taken in East City. Probably the same day he had talked Ed into allowing him to buy him some new clothes.

The other man nodded again. "Right," he confirmed. "Clearly. That's definitely Alphonse. Thanks, General, now I've got my story straight." He leaned back in the chair, folding his arms casually behind his head. "So, about those forms, you know, they just need your signature, you could sign them right now so I can get out of here-"

Roy frowned. "What's the big rush?" he asked, his voice thick with false irritation. "Can't you see I have a lot to do? What makes you think your forms are my top priority?"

"Oh come _on,_" the man pushed. "I've got a big date tonight."

The General raised an eyebrow. "With who?"

Havoc smirked, staring hard at the other man's face, wanting to remember his expression forever. "General Hawkeye," he said nonchalantly, giving a light shrug.

* * *

**FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST SPOTTED IN EAST CITY**  
_Still bean sized after six years_

The press has just received a file from an anonymous photographer, clearly showing the Fullmetal Alchemist, alias Edward Elric, was recently in East City with one General Roy Mustang. Pursued by the military for his involvement in the Lior situation and later suspected by the government of performing a Human Transmutation, Fullmetal disappeared over six years ago without a trace.

Known as the original Elric prodigy, he began his military career when he passed the State Alchemist exam at the young age of twelve. At that time, he was the youngest ever to receive the certification. Over the four years he spent with the military, he earned the title "The People's Alchemist," and became something of a celebrity, especially in the north, from where he originated. However, his wide range of alchemical talents were quickly surpassed by his younger brother, Alphonse Elric, who passed the State Alchemist Exam at eleven and was given the title of Soul Alchemist.

Pronounced dead by the military but still believed to be in hiding by the government, the existence of the Fullmetal Alchemist has remained a mystery to the people of Amestris. There were frequent "Fullmetal sightings" up to two years after his disappearance, but recently there has been a new rash of rumors that, after extensive investigation, turned out to be more credible than previous sightings.

Did Edward Elric go into hiding when parliament took control of the government, realizing that he would be made to pay for his crimes against the people of Lior, or had he been a fugitive even before the new government was put into place? Did he intend to escape the corruption of the old military and stay true to his reputation as the "People's Alchemist," helping people quietly all this time, out of the government's sight? Is it possible that despite the investigation bureau's conclusions, his brother was in fact a product of a Human Transmutation, and the Fullmetal Alchemist fears punishment for that crime more than anything else?

Whatever the truth is, the fact remains that although proof now exists that Fullmetal is indeed alive, our sources inform us that due to the recent civil unrest, the government lacks the necessary resources to fully investigate the situation. For now, the country will be left to wonder if the Fullmetal Alchemist was really a friend or a foe.

* * *

_click._

Golden eyes narrowed. "Hey!"

Winry was already shaking out the stiff card, staring at the moment she had captured as she continued through the room. The bright mid-morning sun glared off the snow, drenching the room in whitish light, and Ed sat in the corner of the couch, a blanket around his shoulders and Kaiya curled in one arm. The baby was still clutching her ring of wooden keys, but she lay against his chest, awake and silent, eyes wide and enraptured at the sound of his voice. A book was propped on his knees, kept open by his free hand, and he was reading quietly out loud, for the most part ignoring the photographic interruption.

One empty cereal bowl, one plate of unidentifiable crumbs, one orange peel, one candy wrapper, one empty coffee mug and one empty bottle sat piled on the table, forgotten. "…the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses-"

"Ed!" Winry interrupted. "What on earth are you reading her, an alchemy book? She can't even understand you!"

"She likes it!" he protested, looking down at Kaiya's contented expression.

The font door opened a second time and a second blast of cold air blew into the room. Al pulled his hat off his head, running his hand over his flattened hair, and stomped the snow off his boots.

"Look what I got," Winry said smugly, handing him the picture, and he laughed.

"Aw," he said, smiling at the now-clear photo of his brother and the baby.

"He's reading her an alchemy book, can you believe it?" she continued, trying to tease Ed some more, although he was pointedly still reading quietly as though he had never been interrupted.

Al just shrugged. "So? At least he's not reading her the periodic table of elements or something," he said defensively.

"Hey!" Ed said from the couch, finally closing the book. "I wouldn't do that. I don't want her first words to be hydrogen and helium!"

Kaiya stirred in his arm, squirming a bit and wrinkling her forehead now that the steady sound of his reading voice had switched to ordinary conversation.

Winry plucked the book out of his lap and stared at the cover. "The Philosopher's Stone?" she read, raising an eyebrow.

Al snatched it out of her hands, looking at the cover. "Uh, brother, that's not an alchemy book…" he said, and Ed laughed.

"Yeah, I managed to figure that out by about, I don't know, the first sentence?" He shrugged. "It's a good story, though, if you like reading about magic and all that stuff."

"Is this what you've been doing all morning?" Winry said, eying the mess on the coffee table.

Ed began to rock the baby back and forth, trying to sooth her back into contentment, and said, "Well, we had some breakfast, and we listened to the radio, and then we decided to read a book, right, Kaiya?"

Al laughed again. "So, in other words, you're teaching her how to slack off."

Ed nodded. "Right. Valuable skill, slacking. You can never start too early. Why, where did you go?"

They exchanged glances. "We shoveled the snow off the font porch and the sidewalk," Al said.

Ed raised an eyebrow. "All morning?"

Winry snickered. "Al got in a snowball fight with the neighbor kids," she told him.

"Hey," Al protested. "What do you mean, _I_ got in a fight with them? You _terrorized_ them! They're never going to play near our yard again!"

"I didn't terrorize them! At least I was using good old-fashioned snowballs, not some kind of alchemical snow cannon!"

"They thought my cannon was cool!"

Ed was nodding approvingly. "Nice, Al," he said.

His younger brother handed him back the book, and began to walk towards the kitchen. "I'm going to make hot chocolate, Winry, you want some?" he called over his shoulder.

"Yes please!" she called back.

"Me too!" Ed added.

She plopped down in the other corner of the couch. "You don't get any, you didn't help with the snow," she retorted.

Ed sniffed. "I would have if you asked," he told her. _Hey, I'm glad you and Al seem to be getting along again_, he said in his mind.

"Oh shit," came Al's voice from the kitchen.

"What happened?" they both called in unison.

"Don't say 'shit' in front of the baby!" Ed added.

Al appeared again in the doorway, tossing a bundle of newsprint their way. "You read this," he said flatly, "and then tell me what to say."

* * *

Jean Havoc could not believe his luck. It was the perfect evening for a date, chill enough for him to offer to throw his jacket around her shoulders, but not too bitter to walk around looking at the stars. She had agreed to meet him by the fountain in the center of the city, and then join him at one of the finer restaurants in the area. He chortled to himself, recalling again the General's startled expression.

When they met they hugged briefly, and he was reminded that it was not a real date as he took the thick envelope she tucked inside his jacket. Still, one could hope. "You look lovely this evening, General," he said, smiling a charming smile.

She nodded in thanks. "You look very well yourself, Lieutenant," she said crisply.

"Shame about that rule about fraternizing with subordinates, isn't it, General?" he said, still charming, offering his arm.

"Shame that you aren't technically my subordinate, you're Roy's," she replied, equally charming, placing a hand on the offered arm and walking in step with him towards the restaurant. Suddenly she stiffened. "What was that?" she hissed.

Immediately he snapped out of date-mode, his senses alert. "What was what?" he said quietly, even as he heard an odd sputtering sound. "Get down!" he yelled, the restaurant they had been heading for suddenly exploding in flames, the glass shattering outward onto the street and people screaming all around. Riza grabbed him by the arm, jerking to the side as two bullets whizzed by him, the sound of the shots lost in the explosion. In a split second she shot twice in the direction of the bullets _he didn't even see her draw her gun_ and began issuing instructions to the police officers that had come running.

* * *

Edward awoke slowly, as if working through layer upon layer of fog, painstakingly sorting dreams from reality. His brother's ability to wake instantly must be a learned talent; he was working on learning it too. If Winry says a good parent wakes up when the baby cries at night, then damn it all, he was going to wake up. Sitting up, he realized he still slept on the very edge of the bed, even though he had been sleeping alone for the past week. In the mornings he woke up grasping at empty sheets, but at least, he told himself daily, that was better than waking up kissing his younger brother.

It wasn't the sound of Kaiya waking, it was a thrashing about, a muttering, something unlike anything he had woken up to before. Quietly, he made his way down the hall, pausing at Winry's door but hearing only silence. "Al!" he hissed in the darkness, hurrying down the stairs and cursing when he stumbled over a pair of shoes that had been left out on the living room floor. "Al?" he said, his voice a trace louder, leaning over the back of the couch, concerned.

His brother had one arm thrown over his eyes, and was whacking at the cushions with the other. "No," he whimpered. "No, you can't, don't hurt him, don't do this!"

"Hey, Al!" Ed said sharply, coming around to the front of the couch and taking the younger man by the shoulders. "Hey, wake up, it's a nightmare. Al?"

"I hate you!" Al said fiercely, swinging his fist blindly, striking his older brother in the arm. "I hate you," he repeated.

Ed grabbed his brother's fist, pinning it to the couch, and shook him with his metal hand. "Al, wake up!" he said again.

"Blood," Al muttered. "So much blood, brother, you have so much blood in you." He lifted his arm from over his eyes and Ed could see that his face was streaked with tears. Swallowing hard, he crouched next to the couch, scooping his brother awkwardly in his arms, pulling him into a sitting position.

"Al," he said soothingly, hesitantly, rubbing one hand up and down the side of his head. "Al, come on, wake up, it was just a dream."

Grey eyes, black in the darkness, opened and darted around the room. "Are we dead?" he whispered, sending shivers up Ed's spine. "Are we both dead now?"

"Shhh," Ed murmured, closing his arms around him. "No one's dead, Al. It was a dream. No one's hurt; no one's dead," he said, wondering wildly what his brother had been dreaming. His eyes widened as Al began to sob, his body shaking in his arms. "Brother, he killed you!" he said, his voice muffled from pressing his face into his brother's flesh shoulder.

He felt his breath catch; a coldness seized him by the chest and spread outward. "Who did?" he asked, his voice a mere whisper in the darkness.

"I don't know," Al said into his shoulder. "That thing."

"What thing?" Ed pressed, his chest aching with every pound of his heart.

"I don't know. I don't know!" he repeated, panic rising in his voice. He picked his head up, staring Ed in the face, the whites of his eyes glaring in the half-light from the windows. "Brother, I saw you die!" He clutched his hands to his own chest. "At night, when I dream, I see you die. It stabs you, here, and I feel it." Another sob wracked his trembling body, and Ed tightened his arms around him. "What is it, brother? What is that thing?"

"What does it look like?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know!" his brother cried. "I'm looking at it, but I don't see it, I only know it's evil, and it wants to kill you-"

"Shhhh," Ed interrupted, shuddering at the memory pressing at the edges of his own mind. "Al, it's all right now. We won. We're both alive; we're both okay. You saved me, don't you remember that part?"

Al stilled in his arms, and was silent for a moment. Then he pulled away, turning to face his brother. His eyes had lost that wild look, and his face was serious, intent, and shadowed in the dark. "What are you talking about? Do you have this dream too?"

"I- yeah," he said softly. "I dream about it too. I guess I always will. I didn't know you remembered it."

The younger brother frowned. "What do you mean? You didn't really die, you can't have. You were alive on the other side of the Gate all that time. You're alive now, I'm awake, and I know that. It's just this nightmare I have where you die…" but Ed was shaking his head slowly. "Brother?"

"Oh Al," he said slowly, his voice heavy. "You didn't know?"

"Know what?" his brother whispered.

"I'm sorry," Ed said quietly. "I thought- I figured someone would have told you- but there wasn't anyone, was there?"

"Tell me what?" he hissed. "You can't have- that's impossible- what are you talking about?"

He put his hand gently on the back of his brother's head. "You _do_ have those memories, somewhere," he said. "You have enough of them to give you nightmares."

"What am I remembering?" Al whispered, his eyes locked on his brother's. "Tell me, Ed, please tell me?"

Another shudder went up his spine, and Ed felt his breath catch again. When he spoke his voice was measured, even, and eerie in the dark. "The homunculus, Envy, the one that Dad and Dante created, stabbed me with a spear and I died. You brought me back, Al, and I was whole and complete. When I stood up, it was on two flesh legs; I had two arms, two hands. But I was alone. You were gone."

"How? How did I do that?"

"You had the Stone."

"But I don't know how to do a… Human Transmutation," he protested.

"Yes you do," Ed said evenly, his words weighing heavily on the air. "We both do."

"All this time," Al said slowly, "I thought you gave your life to get my body back."

"I did."

"But I didn't know- I didn't know that's how it happened- Brother!" he said, worried. "You're shaking!" Al wrapped his arms around his brother, pulling him in tight and feeling the tremors lessen. "I'm sorry!" he cried. "I'm sorry I made you talk about this."

Ed took a deep breath, trying to calm his body, which seemed to be reacting independently of his mind. "I'm okay, Al. It's okay. You should know what happened." He shifted on the couch, pushing himself back into the corner and pulling Al with him. Although he was the bigger of the two, always had been since they were very young, Al found himself crawling onto his older brother's lap and burying his face in his chest. Ed tightened his arms around him.

"I woke you up," Al said into his shoulder.

"Yeah," Ed said to the top of his head.

"I'm sorry."

"It's all right."

After a moment, Al said, "Brother?"

"Hm?"

"Stay with me?"

Ed sighed, shifting again. "Let's both go sleep upstairs, Al."

"Mmm," was the only response as Al snuggled into his shoulder. Ed leaned his head back on the couch, staring up into the darkness, forcing the thoughts out of his mind.

* * *

Note: Since this chapter was split into two, what is now chapter four will be posted shortly. Thanks for waiting.  
Note2: Three guesses as to what Ed is reading. And no, it's not just a random insertion, it is an actual plot point. (albeit in a very, very roundabout way)  
Note3: I know I said Al was going to get mad. This wasnt the chapter in which that happens. 


	5. Zwischenzeit II: The Little Joys

**Zwischenzeit II:****The Little Joys**

"Oh, Alphonse, where's your friend?"

He refused to say that Ed was dead. Edward wasn't dead, hadn't died in an explosion. Ed was home, where he always wanted to be, with his brother, which was all he had ever really wanted anyway. Alphonse wasn't crazy, hadn't imagined his double working with him on the rocket all those months. The other Alphonse, his younger self, had somehow made it home to Ed, and the brothers were living happily ever after in their world of alchemy and magic.

Marie, the girl in the flower shop, waited expectantly for an answer to her query, which had been meant as nothing more than polite conversation.

Alphonse swallowed hard, but refused to be upset. If Ed was home at last, he should be happy for him. "He went home to be with his brother," he said finally.

Marie seemed a bit surprised by his hesitation at her question, but shrugged and handed him his change and his flowers. "Your mother is going to love these," she assured him, smiling. Her pale face was fresh, innocent, unmarked by tragedy and her warm brown eyes sparkled. "Tell your friend I was asking about him," she added, waving goodbye as he exited her shop.

"I'll do that," he mumbled, hearing the little bell jingle when the door closed behind him. _Ed, remember that girl in the flower shop? Marie? _The chill air stung his face as he made his way through the streets of his town. He could hardly go a block without seeing someone he knew, someone he had grown up with, wanting news from the big city. _I just stopped in to get some flowers for my mom before showing up. It's always weird coming home. It's so empty compared to what I grew up with. _He chuckled to himself. _I guess it's not really empty. I think my brother just seemed to take up a lot of space._

His stomach clenched at the recollection of how Ed had been able to sprawl. Barely clearing five feet, it wouldn't seem Ed was a person to occupy a lot of space, but Alphonse had quickly learned that the opposite was true. And with Ed gone, their apartment now seemed huge, too much space for one person, and unbearably empty, just like his home in Hirligen.

There's so many things I want to tell you, Ed. The train ride here was all right, really. I know you always complain about the seats, but would you believe this one wasn't all that bad? I spent the ride leaning my head into the window, just like you do, and watching the scenery blur by. I felt like if I just looked up, you would be right there, sitting across from me.

_There's so many things I want to ask you, Ed, but every time I try, I can't even imagine your answer. It's so easy to imagine you sleeping beside me, reading in the next room, or just out for the day, chasing after information you think might get me home. It's so easy to have conversations with you in my mind-_

His inner voice stopped abruptly when he realized he was standing in front of his own door. Someone must have been watching from the window for him, because before he could take out his key he heard the doorknob turn.

It was his grandmother, not his mother, who opened the door, welcoming him in. He smiled, and hugged her, and tried to look healthy and happy for her as he watched her size up his thin form. She looked no different to him than she had when he was a little boy, when she used to give him and his brother peppermint sticks if the behaved at her house.

She held him by the shoulders, observing him critically but seeming to reserve judgment, turning him around and giving him a light shove at the small of his back. "Go say hello to your mother," she instructed.

Alphonse paused in the hallway. _Last time I was here, Ed, it was with you, and even though I miss you horribly, God, it feels so good to be home. I never miss it when I'm in the city, but I'm glad I came back. I think this is just what I needed. As soon as I stepped off the train, everything was familiar to me in a way that the city never will be. Things don't change here-_

"Alphonse?" came his mother's soft voice, and he realized he had been standing in front of her for several minutes. "Alphonse?" she repeated.

He managed a wry smile. "I'm home," he said quietly, watching his mother inspect him with her eyes, just like his grandmother had done. Her eyes darted to his cane, and her face clouded with worry. He hurriedly set it aside, leaning it against the hall table. "It's okay, mom," he assured her. "I hardly need it any more, it's more for balance than anything. I'm getting better," he added, seeing that he had convinced no one. _I love the way I can never lie to the women in my family, _he thought, to himself this time rather than to Ed.

He allowed himself to be fed and fussed over, all in the same half-daze he had spent the past months in. He saw mother and daughter exchange worried glances when he seemed not to be looking, and tried in vain to ease their unrest. He would be fine, he could do this. He would be like Ed, able to handle anything and everything.

The first time I brought you here, Ed, I should have seen it then. Maybe you even tried to tell me. I remember how quiet you got, how you retreated back into that shell I had worked so hard to draw you out of. I should have seen the way everyone looked at you, the shock in their eyes when you said your name was Edward. I should have seen it, but maybe I just didn't want to. Maybe I just loved you too much to let myself think about it.

_I should have known the very day I met you. I _did _know the very day I met you. You were nearly the spitting image of my brother, the way he would have looked if he had lived to grow up. _ _But what could I possibly think of that, Ed? I didn't know. I didn't know there were other worlds, I didn't know the things I do now. The only possible explanation was that it was a coincidence. What else could it have been?_

_If you were really here, Ed, I don't even know if I could make myself ask you this, because I can't imagine what you might answer. But you did know, didn't you? You knew you were another version of my own brother, just like I was the double of yours?_


	6. Chapter Four, Part One: Secrets

**Chapter Four, Part One**: Secrets

Winry hadn't looked at the automail catalogue she had spread over her lap since she opened it. She was watching Al watch Ed sleep.

Al was sitting sideways with his feet up on the train seat with Kaiya curled against his chest, but his gaze was focused entirely on his brother. At first glance it would seem that Ed slept a lot, but Winry knew the truth: in fact Ed slept very little, and at odd hours. The three of them had been up very late the night before, talking and otherwise procrastinating and then even later beginning to pack, and she had a feeling that Ed had remained awake several hours even after she and Al had gone to bed. He was sleeping now, though, and had been for most of the train ride, curled in on himself in the opposite corner of the compartment from his brother, who watched him, entranced.

Al supposed his older brother would be unrecognizable to a stranger. What did strangers know of Ed? They knew him as a wild legend, the boy from the stories, from the Amestris of another era, now, the boy with the blonde braid and the red coat. Before they had left for the station in Altenburg, Winry had pinned his brother's golden hair up on his head (_like a girl's, _came Ed's snarling protest, but even Ed could not argue with the results) and Al had placed the black fedora over top, effectively (he hoped) disguising him from curious onlookers.

Al wasn't sure if his brother truly understood how important it was that he remain anonymous. The Ed he remembered had been a glutton for attention, and this newer, older, foreign Ed seemed content to just exist in the back ground, but Al couldn't tell if this was a true change in character or just an attempt to placate his younger brother's insistences. To be fair, Al had to admit that he hadn't really given his brother all the reasons his existence had to remain secret.

He knew about his brother's guilt, oh, did he ever know about it. Even as children, Ed had always held himself responsible for anything that happened to Al, even things that all children did, like scraping a knee or skinning a knuckle. Ed had always felt that it was his job to look out for him, and if anything at all happened to Al, then it was an indication that he was not doing his job as an older brother. This was years ago, but until recently these had been the only memories Al had of his brother, and they were perfectly clear in his mind.

His brother's guilt was legendary. Everyone who had been close to Ed had told him about it. Izumi had told him how he had insisted that their failed transmutation had been his fault entirely, even though the memories of it had been fresh in Al's ten-year-old mind and Al knew it had been something they had planned together. Winry and Pinako had told him how Ed had not allowed himself to cry out during the many painful surgeries it took to attach his automail, because he felt that his physical pain was nothing compared to what he had put his younger brother through. In those days, in the days that Al had been ten years old for the second time in his life, he had longed to tell his brother that it wasn't his fault. He had longed to smack him on the back of his head, to yell at him, hands on his hips, they way their mother used to, to repeat the truth enough times that Ed accepted it: that the transmutation had been _both _of their doings, and that what had happened to Al was no fault of Ed's. But Ed had not been there, and Al had grown up with non-memories of Edward's guilt.

He didn't know if Ed knew that the new government had blamed him entirely for the disappearance of an entire military unit in Lior. He didn't know if this was something General Mustang had told him about while Al had been in Germany or not, but he thought it was unlikely. It had been, to Al's vehement protests, General Mustang himself who had allowed the blame to be placed on his brother, for more than just the Lior massacre. _Fullmetal is no longer part of this world, _the General had told him. _Wherever he is, the military cannot touch him. Let the blame go to him, rather than those who have lives yet to be lived. _

Al had been incensed, screaming and throwing things around Mustang's office, throwing a tantrum of true Elric proportions, he would have made his brother proud, several members of Mustang's crew had noted, watching him slam the door and storm out of the building, throwing his watch on the ground outside the door to the headquarters. It had been Fuery who had picked up the watch, dusted it off, and returned it to Al when he had cooled down enough to set foot back on military property again. _Trust him, Al,_ the man had said, quietly, sincerely. _Your brother trusted him, you've got to trust him too. _

In those days Al found it hard to believe that his brother had trusted anyone, let alone anyone as blatantly manipulative as Roy Mustang. Now, as he watched Ed sleep, he wondered again if Ed knew that most of the country considered him a murderer of thousands. He wondered if Ed knew that most of the country had bought Mustang's explanations, accepted them as truth just like they accepted the new leadership, allowing Amestris to become a very different place from the one Ed had disappeared from so many years ago.

He didn't want to lie to his brother; he didn't want to hide things from him and he knew that Ed could tell there were things Al wasn't telling him, but he couldn't bring himself to dump anything else on his conscience. It was, after all, the younger brother's job to look out for the older one when no one was looking.

Suddenly Ed startled awake, sitting up abruptly, his eyes wide with terror and his heart racing. He gave a strangled yelp, and Winry was at his side in an instant, her automail catalogue fluttering to the floor, forgotten.

"Ed," she said, kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in her own. "What's wrong?" she demanded, her voice thick with concern. "What happened, what's the matter?"

His gaze was slowly focusing on her, his eyes returning to a normal size as he took in the moving train compartment. He jerked his hands out of her grip. "Nothing," he muttered, "I'm fine."

She rose from where she was kneeling, coming to sit beside him on the train bench. "It's not nothing," she said, quietly, insistently. "What happened?"

He turned to face her, annoyance sliding off his words. "I said _nothing,_ didn't I?" he snapped, rubbing at his eyes with his hand and letting himself sit back against the wall of the compartment. "I'm _fine, _leave me alone." He pressed his hand to his chest, as if feeling for the beating of his heart, and inched away from her, closer to the wall of the compartment.

"Was it a nightmare?" Al asked quietly, not moving from his seat.

Ed nodded, once, and said nothing.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Winry asked gently.

"No," said both brothers in unison, their eyes meeting across the compartment, and Al watched his brother press his lips together grimly.

Just then the train began to screech to a halt. They were not in Central yet, but the stop signified that they were coming close. At the change in movement Kaiya stirred in Al's arms, screwing her face up and beginning to howl. "Hey!" he protested, trying to rock her back and forth the way Winry did, attempting to imitate the movement of the train. "Hey, Kaiya, don't cry, come on, do you want your bottle?" Her cry was piercing, and Al looked up desperately at his brother and Winry, his eyes clearly saying _what should I do? _

Winry immediately stood up to retrieve the bag of baby paraphernalia from the overhead compartment, reaching into the side pocket and thrusting the pacifier at Al. "Here, give her this," she directed, but Kaiya refused it, managing to both close her lips against the plastic nipple and continue to cry.

"She doesn't want it," Al said, and Winry snatched it from him, trying to coax it into the baby's mouth.

Winry began to dig in the bag for the bottle, already filled with milk and sealed in a plastic bag.

"If she doesn't want the pacifier she isn't going to want her bottle either," Al argued, and Winry glared at him.

"Maybe she's _hungry," _she said, irritated, holding up the pacifier. "If I was hungry and someone gave me this instead, I'd be angry too." She took her daughter from Al's arms and stood in the middle of the compartment, trying to rock her while the train stood stopped at the station and the people exiting the train glared at them as they passed their seats. "Okay, baby, come on, don't cry," she pleaded, "have some milk-"

"Maybe she doesn't _like _milk," Ed put in, and both Al and Winry glared at him, but Kaiya was refusing the bottle as well.

"Oh, so now _you're _the shining example of a perfect parent?" Winry demanded, rocking the squalling baby up and down and frustration emanating from her being.

Ed stood, his expression still irritated. "Maybe she's just tired of sitting on this stuffy train," he snapped back, holding his arms out to take her.

Winry looked at him hard, biting back a nasty retort, but placed the baby in his arms. Just then the train lurched to a start again, and they all three jerked backward at the movement, Ed slamming down into his seat again and Al and Winry into each other.

When the train was moving along steadily and all three of them were seated in their original places, Kaiya's howl had subsided to a mere whimper and Ed was singing something under his breath. Neither Al nor Winry could catch an inkling of the tune, because when Ed sang it was more of a chant than a melody anyway, but the words, or what they could hear of them, were unfamiliar. "What's that, Ed?" Winry asked curiously.

"Something Al taught me," he said distractedly, picking up the song again as soon as he spoke, eyes focused entirely on the baby.

When Winry looked at Al questioningly, he gave her an odd look. "A different Al," he told her, and both brothers refused to elaborate further.

* * *

Aside from the train station, it had been ten years since he had seen Central, and his eyes traveled from one change to the next, probably making him look like a tourist, he thought with amusement. Let them think he was a tourist, he didn't care. No one would pick him out as the Fullmetal Alchemist, that was for sure. Blond braid? He touched the back of his hair, under the hat: nope. Red coat? He shoved his hand into the pocket of his brown coat from Germany (which Al had originally wanted to wear, even though it was really too small for him) and tried to picture his old red one in his room in Germany. Nope, no red coat here. Automail? He looked down at his dragging left foot. Sadly, no, although soon that would be remedied, he hoped. This was certainly not the Fullmetal Alchemist returned from the dead.

"Don't get into any trouble, Brother"Al had chided him as he stood in front of the mirror tying back his hair. Ed had protested, but Al had just smiled sweetly and insisted, "I know you. Don't try to pretend it could never happen."

"Well," Ed had grumbled, "you could ensure I won't be up to no good by just letting me come see you at the certification exam. I said I wanted to see your alchemy, and besides, by the way you describe it it sounds like it's more of a chance for you to show off than to actually be evaluated. You said yourself there's going to be tons of people there, I'll just blend into the crowd."

"Brother," Al had said wearily, "I have never known you to blend into a crowd. It's just not a good idea; you know it's not a good idea, think of who's going to be there! Think of what could happen if someone recognizes you!" Al had said, exasperated, having repeated this sentiment several times over.

"And what, exactly, could happen if someone recognizes me, Al?"

"You could get arrested, and I'd never see you again," Al had said seriously.

Ed had just shrugged, not taking Al's statement as truth. "Nah, I'd escape, and be back at home with you in no time," he had assured his brother, but Al had not laughed, and Ed had changed his tone. "All right, I'm not coming," he had said, serious this time. "You told me not to come and I'm respecting that, but I'm not going to spend the rest of my life hiding, either!"

Al had given a frustrated sigh, turning away from the mirror to face him. "I know," he had said quietly. "But we're in the middle of Central, of all places. I'm not saying you have to hide inside the whole time we're here, I'm just saying you should stay away from the military, and _be discreet_- hey!" he had cried then, as Winry ruffled her hand through his bangs.

Ed smirked to himself, rounding the corner. Yep, discreet was definitely a word that was often used to describe him, he thought, the sarcasm just dripping from his mind. He didn't have any particular destination; he was just enjoying the bustle of the city streets. Altenburg was a small town, but it wasn't home to him and so he felt no affinity for the place. Of course, he missed Rizembool, but more often than he expected to he felt himself missing the crowded streets of Munich as well.

He shook his head. That couldn't be right. It was Alphonse he missed, Alphonse had been the only good thing he had come upon in that world; Alphonse who was not his brother at all, who was a different person entirely, who had become his family and his friend and his lover all at once in that foreign place.

It was still hard to believe that every morning that he woke up, he would wake up here, at home. He would never stop at the little café down the street from his and Alphonse's apartment for an early morning bite to eat before locking himself in the lab. He would never sit in his favorite corner of the Munich library surrounded by books that had become familiar to him, never wave to the kind librarian lady on his way out. He would never feel out of sorts after walking past the run-down house that he and his father had shared when they first arrived in Germany. In fact, according to his brother, the lab that he had spent the better part of two years in didn't even exist; it had exploded perhaps even the very second he arrived back in Amestris.

"Come on, I just want to talk to you," said one of the voices behind him. The sidewalks were less crowded now, and Ed thought there were maybe two people behind him now, a man and a woman.

"Go away, I said," said the woman's voice, and it sounded familiar to him but at first he could not place it.

"Come on, just consider what I said. It's just some obscure information. No one will know if you give it to me or not." came the man's wheedling tone. "Hey. How come you're not answering me? Hey. Don't you know who you're dealing with?"

Ed spun around, and recognized the woman at once, it was Winry's friend, the bookworm. "Leave her alone," he snapped, glaring at the man through narrowed eyes.

"Hey buddy," the man said, voice dripping with condescension, "If she's not gonna talk to me, she sure as hell wont talk to a shrimp like you." Ed felt his blood boil. Did this jerk have any idea who he was dealing with? He had _grown-_

"Ed!" Sheizka squeaked in surprise.

"You _know _this guy?" the man asked incredulously, and Ed felt his heart jump. The man was wearing a military uniform.

Sheizka, however, remained speechless.

"Yes," Ed said boldly, his voice more cocky than he actually felt. "Now get lost. The lady is clearly not interested in you."

A vein seemed to bulge in the man's neck, and his face reddened to match his hair, but then he relaxed and shrugged, rolling his eyes. He brushed an invisible piece of lint off his uniform, saying finally, "Fine, I don't have time for this anyways," and turned on his heel to walk the opposite direction.

The two stood staring at each other for a moment, and then Ed rubbed the back of his head. "So, long time no see, eh?"

Sheizka took this opportunity to faint, and he caught her awkwardly. Well, at least his afternoon wouldn't be boring.

* * *

Ed leaned against the back of the uncomfortable café chair, tapping his fingers idly on the side of his coffee mug and observing Sheizka with an amused expression, certain that he could just about see the little alien spacecrafts floating around her head and wondering what she would conclude if she ever saw an actual airplane flying through the sky.

"Alien technology," she said, her hands pressed together and her eyes shining behind her thick glasses, "must be incredible, to be able to build something like that, that can fly around in outer space. Imagine how much knowledge they have, imagine what their books must be like! Did you know," she said, leaning forward, "that aliens built the pyramids?"

Ed just laughed. "I have heard that," he admitted, at first brushing the idea off. It was possible, anything, he had learned, was possible, but aliens and pyramids did not pertain to his search for a way to open the gate, so- "Wait a minute!" he said, sitting bolt upright. The pyramids. The geometric stone tombs, huge, the burial places for rulers of an ancient culture long gone _from a world in another universe! _"Sheizka!" he hissed. "What are you talking about? What pyramids?"

She smiled conspiratorially. "I figured you would know about the pyramids," she said, almost slyly. "You've always believed in things no one else did."

He shook his head, his coffee mug forgotten. "No, no," he insisted. "I don't know anything about the pyramids, how could I possibly- what _are _you talking about? I've never read anything about pyramids, not in _this _world." He spoke the last part of his sentence without thinking, and immediately regretted it. He had assured Sheizka that he was not a ghost; that he had not returned from the dead, he had merely been away for a long while. He had not told her that "away" meant he was living in another dimension, and he did not understand what the ancient history of that world was doing mixed up with this young woman's left-field alien theories.

"Then you haven't been reading the right books," she told him, and then glanced up suspiciously. "Unless you're just making fun of me?" she added uncertainly, placing her hands palms down on the table. "Everyone always does this to me, they see how long they can get me talking about stuff they think is utter nonsense, just so they can tease me about it later-"

Ed was shaking his head, trying to reassure her. "I'm not making fun of you," he insisted, and then leaned across the table. "What are these books you've read about pyramids? Where did you get them?"

He watched her eyes flick upwards, and knew she was sifting through the catalogue of information her brain housed. "Human Library," he had called her when he had first discovered her talent for memorization. "I'm not sure," she said finally. "They were brought in when I was working for the National Archives, five years ago now. They were old, old books, almost falling apart, and they were written about even older books that are lost now, I suppose. They referenced all sorts of sources that were never located, but-" she stopped, suspicion crossing her features again when she saw Ed's frown. "Are you sure you're not making fun of me?"

"No," he told her seriously. "I'm not. I'm very interested. What would I have to do to see these books?"

She tapped a finger to her lips. "Well, you'd have to find them first. I never knew where they were finally stored, either. And, Ed, I'm not copying them out for you unless you're paying me," she added.

Ed shrugged. "It's not _that _important, really," he admitted, "I'm just curious. I'll see if I can find them, maybe the General will be able to help me out," he mused. He picked up his coffee again, which had cooled to lukewarm, and leaned back from the table.

* * *

Ed knew he looked a wreck. He knew Winry would yell at him as soon as she opened the door. He was dirty, sweaty, disheveled, and very, very not in the hotel room where he was supposed to be. The doorman eyed him suspiciously when he entered the building, but did not turn him away, and he trudged up the stairs to their room on the eighth floor. The hotel had an elevator, but he was trying to delay facing the unpleasant scene he knew must be waiting for him inside.

Thankfully, it was his brother, and not Winry, who opened the door for him.

He grinned sheepishly. "Hi Al, sorry, I lost my key," he said, his explanation for why he was knocking on the door to his own room.

Al raised his eyebrows at his brother's appearance. "What happened to you?"

Ed just shrugged, taking off his coat and hanging it by the door, straightening his shirt collar and re-tying his hair, making himself a shade more presentable. "How was the exam, Al?" he asked instead.

"Oh, Ed, Al was amazing," Winry called from the bedroom. "And there was this other alchemist there who-" she stopped in the doorway. "What have you been _doing?" _she demanded, hands on her hips. "I was so not surprised when we came back and you weren't here. I knew you couldn't resist poking around the city, but what the heck did you get into to make you come back like _that?_"

Ed looked off to the side. "Well, I ran into Scheizka, and I took her out for coffee to prove that I wasn't a ghost," he began.

Winry raised her eyebrows. "That part I know, there was a phone message from her downstairs when we got back," she said, waiting for the rest of the story.

"Well, I sort of got in a fight," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

"You did _what?_" Winry shrieked.

"Brother!" Al said at the same time. "You said you wouldn't get into any trouble!" he reminded him.

"I didn't," Ed protested, "It came to me, I swear! All I wanted to do was walk around the city, honest!"

Winry swatted him on the back of his head. "Go get cleaned up," she instructed, pointing to the shower. "General Mustang reserved a private room for us here in the hotel, and General Hawkeye and Lieutenant Havoc are coming over for dinner. I invited Scheizka but she said she had too much work to finish tonight, but tomorrow's a holiday and she's meeting up with us then."

Ed raised his eyebrows, surprised she didn't have more questions for him. "What about Gracia and Elysia?" he asked then.

"We're having dinner with them the day after," she said, hands on her hips. "Ed, shower, now!"

He took a long look at his brother, telling him in his mind that although he didn't mind Winry not pressing him for details, he had a lot to relay to him later on. Al nodded once, slowly, seeming to catch on, and Ed turned to fetch some clean clothes from his suitcase for after his shower.

* * *

Lieutenant Colonel Anders squinted down at the police report. "This says there were five people involved, yet I see only three here." He raised an eyebrow, his cool gaze scanning the police headquarters. "Where, might I ask, are the other two?"

One of the officers coughed. "The one who escaped, we know him only as Red, is the reason we got the military involved. One of the witnesses said he was seen earlier wearing a military uniform, and the three we have in custody here are all known terrorists. We have reason to believe he was passing information to them."

Anders nodded slowly. "That seems likely." He turned to the subordinates he had brought with him. "Transfer these men to military custody," he directed, then glanced at the report again. "And the fifth person? Where is he, he seems to have done the most damage here."

"Ah, sir, we couldn't really hold him, seeing how we determined he hadn't committed any crimes…"

The Lieutenant Colonels eyes flashed. "You couldn't hold him? You didn't think that being targeted by an anti-military terrorist group was any reason to think he might have any information for us?" He gazed steadily at the embarrassed policemen. "He _was _targeted, deliberately, that much is clear from the report. Who was he? Investigations department needs to contact him."

The chief of police cleared his throat. "With all due respect, sir, we determined him to simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. He was very open with us, but seemed to have nothing valuable to add."

"You let the military be the judge of that!" Anders snapped. "Who was he?"

"Short little guy, said he was an alchemist, but you never know," one of the other officers answered helpfully. "People make all sorts of claims. Never saw him do any alchemy, though."

"What was his _name,_ officer?" Anders pressed.

"Oh, he said his name was Edward Heiderich," the other man offered.

"Edward Heiderich, eh," mused the Lieutenant Colonel. "Very well, then, I'll give his name to investigations, I've put one of my best men in charge recently and he's got quite a file on Mr. Heiderich. I'll have to put my people in charge of tracking him down, since your people have been so incompetent." He glanced down at the report once more. "Suspect named only as 'Red' was wearing a military uniform," he read. "No one saw the markings? No one knows what rank? Given me a lot to work with, gentlemen," he said sarcastically. With that, the man spun sharply, exiting the headquarters with his subordinates following closely behind.

When the chief of police returned to his office, two of the policemen exchanged glances. "Well," said the one man. "That was a surprise."

"What was?" the other asked, puzzled.

"It seems the guy was telling the truth, since the Lieutenant Colonel seemed to know who he was."

The other man raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?" he asked, still confused.

"Oh, come on," the man pressed. "You can't tell me you weren't thinking it too."

"Thinking what?"

"Edward _Heiderich_? Short, blond alchemist-"

"You said you didn't think he really was an alchemist."

"I said no one _saw _him use any alchemy."

The two men stood in silence for a moment. "I never met the Fullmetal Alchemist in person," the second man said eventually, finally understanding what the first man was getting at. "I wouldn't recognize him even if it had been him. You?"

The officer shrugged. "Never met him either. Heard all the rumors of course, but that's all they are. After all, how can one person be in two places at once? First he's spotted in Central, then the next day he's spotted with the Flame Alchemist in East City. Then he's rumored to be living in a small town up north, and then we hear that he's seen on a train heading west. They're just rumors-" he stopped when he saw his companions sudden concern. "What now?" he asked.

"The Lieutenant Colonel," he said. "Did you happen to see? He took the entire police report with him. Did we even make any copies yet?"

* * *

Ed stepped out of the bathroom, one towel around his waist and rubbing another over his hair, which he then shook violently, spaying the room and its occupant with shampoo-scented droplets.

"Brother!" Al protested, wiping a hand across the water that flecked his face.

Ed just snickered in response, tossing the towel on the bed and reaching for his brush, dragging it through his now clean hair.

Al sat down on the bed opposite him, and, never having seen Ed undressed before, let himself stare. He saw the metal arm Ed had told him he made himself, saw how brittle it looked, and how the bolts dug into his skin, leaving the area around it red and raw. He saw the scar on his brother's chest, where he had dreamed (remembered?) him being stabbed through with a spear. He saw the hard muscles of his abdomen and flesh shoulder, and wondered where the soft little boy he remembered was.

_Don't be stupid, Al, _he told himself firmly. _He grew up. You did too. You don't look the way he remembers you either._

There were parallel scars that wrapped around his side, too, as if something with huge claws had swiped at him, and then there was the harness of his wooden leg winding around his thigh and hips.

"Al," his brother said gently, continuing to drag the brush through his hair, "You're staring."

With a start, Al realized he definitely was, and looked away, flustered. "Sorry," he said quickly. "Sorry, it's just that I've never really seen your- your prosthetics."

"Oh," Ed said, sounding surprised, and looked down at himself. _Sorry, _he wanted to say. _Sorry I'm not perfect, _but that was an old conversation, one he had had many times before. "I guess they do look pretty bad," he said, and to Al's surprise he laughed, standing up and reaching for a pair of shorts to exchange for the towel he had been wearing. Then he limped over to Al and sat next to him. He looked at him and shrugged. "You can look, if you want," he said. "You're my brother, I don't have anything to hide from you."

Al reached across him and took the brush out of his hand, and shifted on the bed so he was sitting behind him.

Ed twisted around to face him. "What are you doing?" he asked, confused.

He took his shoulders and turned him back to facing away, and Ed felt the brush pull through his wet hair again.

"Hey!" he protested, snatching his long hair away. "I can do my own hair, you know!"

Al shrugged. "I know, but I want to. I thought you said I always used to do this for you," he said, carefully picking out the tangles before running the brush through the section again.

Ed sighed. "You did," he said quietly. "And I liked it. I like it now," he added. Now, like before, Al seemed to have a knack for taming his hair instantly, where it took Ed a significant amount of time and a certain amount of consideration he was not always willing to put forth. He could feel Al separating his hair into equal sections, and put his hand back to feel what his brother was doing. "I thought you don't know how to braid?" he asked, still puzzled.

"Winry showed me the other night."

"Winry, can you teach me to braid?" It had been an innocent sounding question asked by a twelve year old, and Al tried to keep his voice from quivering when he asked it. He knew, (there were so many things he didn't know, but this was one he did) he knew she would be upset, no matter what tone of voice he used, no matter how he phrased the question, but he asked it anyway.

_She put down her screwdriver but did not look up. "Why?" she asked, her voice flat, her hair hanging down, blocking her expression._

"_My hair's getting long," he whispered._

"_Cut it off," she suggested harshly, picking up another tool and focusing pointedly on the mechanism in the palm of her hand._

"_I-"_

_She pressed her hands flat on the workbench, her head still down, her shoulders hunched. "You aren't him, Al," she said, finally turning to look at him. "You're not your brother, you never will be, even if you wear his clothes, read his books, carry his suitcase, grow your hair out-"_

"_I _know_," he interrupted. "I know I'm not Ed, you remind me of that every time you look at me! That doesn't mean I can't braid my hair. Brother did it because it got in his face, and it's getting in my face, and if you wont show me how I'll just ask someone else-"_

"_Don't," she said roughly. "Please. I can't stand it if you look any more like him than you already do."_

Ed raised his eyebrows, even though his brother couldn't see him from behind, and tried to picture Al and Winry having hair-braiding lessons after he had finally fallen asleep. "Oh," he said finally. When Al finished, Ed scooted back on the bed, tucking his leg up under himself and facing his brother. "You know, I think I'll sleep out in the other room tonight. You and Winry can share the bed in here," he offered.

Al looked away. "I don't care," he said, but his voice was toneless. "Whatever you want to do."

Edward looked down at his lap, not meeting his brother's eyes. "I want things to work out between the two of you," he said quietly. "I don't want you to think I'm trying to come between you."

"You've always been between us," Al countered, still looking away. There was no malice in his voice, only resignation. "Even when you were worlds away."

"I'm _sorry,_ Al," Ed said, almost desperately, but Al stopped him.

"Don't be sorry," Al said firmly. "You weren't even here."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here," Ed whispered, and Al sighed, leaning his forehead into his brother's.

"That was the past," he murmured. "You're here now, and I'm glad."

They sat like that for several minutes, in the center of the hotel bed, heads pressed together and eyes closed, before Al spoke again."You said you got in a fight," Al said quietly, knowing that Winry was in the other room of their suite. "Are you all right? Did you get hurt?"

Ed picked his head up, standing up and shaking out the clean clothes he had set out for himself: the maroon shirt and black pants Roy had bought for him in East City. "Nah, I just got knocked around a bit, but I'm okay. I was mostly just dirty from being on the ground." He saw his brother's concerned expression, and added, "I can still hold my own in a fight, even if I'm not as good as I was," he assured him. He had already stepped into the pants and was putting on the shirt, reaching up to pull his long braid of hair out of the collar before buttoning it up.

Al waited, and after a moment, his brother continued, in the same quiet tone.

"I didn't go looking for trouble, Al, I swear to you I didn't," he said, although as he spoke the words he thought that perhaps flipping off the red haired stranger might have been a bit cocky and less than well thought out. "Not a lot of trouble, anyway," he amended. "It's just that there was this guy who was bothering Sheizka when I ran into her, and I told him to bugger off and he did. She seemed really upset about him, and then after I said goodbye to her I ran into him again, only he was with his friends." He should have walked right past them, he admitted to himself, instead of catching their attention, especially since the red-haired man seemed to be the ringleader and thus needed to defend his pride. Ed shrugged with feigned innocence, and said, "I don't know, I guess I pissed him off somehow-" Al raised and eyebrow at that, echoing _somehow? _with just his eyes- "and _then, _well, you see, I had no choice but to fight back-"

"You _did _start the fight! Brother!" Al kept his voice quiet, but his concern and irritation were growing.

Ed shook his head. "No," he said firmly. "They were doing something secret, something they didn't want anyone to see, when I ran into them. They were exchanging a package, and while they were coming after me, one of them tried to take off with the package, and then they forgot about me and went after him." He shrugged. "Then the police showed up. That's all that happened, it wasn't a big deal." He shrugged again, trying to convince his brother of this. "I just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Something would have happened anyway, even if I hadn't been there." He finished buttoning his shirt one-handed, and noticed his brother still staring at the metal hand that remained at his side, no good for working buttons, and guessed what he was thinking. "Al, don't be so worried. It's not the first mess I've walked into, I just have that kind of luck, you know, and I always come out okay."

"You need to let Winry make you new automail," Al said abruptly. "You're right, you do have that kind of luck. You spend one day in Central and look what happens. I'm worried about you."

Ed just shrugged. "Don't worry about me. I'm your big brother, I can take care of myself. And Winry _is_ making new automail for me, I've seen her plans for it, haven't you?" He bundled up his dirty clothes and tossed them into the corner of the hotel room. "Of course, I can't wait to get it, but I don't want to nag her about it. She has to finish her orders for her customers too, or she's going to lose their business, and she's already taking time away from her work to spend with Kaiya." He looked at his brother, who seemed to be ready to protest. "You know anything about automail surgery?" he asked softly.

Al nodded, reciting what he had been told. "I know it's painful, I know you never screamed, I know I sat outside your door until it was over."

"I tried not to scream because I didn't want you to worry, Al," he said then. "It's okay if you don't remember," he added, seeing his brother's expression. "You were still there for me, even if you don't remember it." _You were the only one who could share my guilt._

Al smiled sadly. Sometimes he really could believe his brother, that it really was all right that his memories were gone, but somehow he wished beyond wishing that he could have them back. "I know you learned to move with it after only one year," he continued, trying not to betray his longing, "because you're a prodigy at everything, brother."

Ed groaned. "Ugh, not everything, Al," he contradicted.

Al gave him a quizzical expression. "Oh yeah? What's something that exists in this world that you don't have an immediate and complete understanding of? Cause I can't come up with anything. You're a genius through and through, and you know it."

"Um, girls?" Ed suggested, and cringed when Al shot him a dark look.

"Well that's for damn sure," Al muttered, standing up as if to leave the room.

"Wait," Ed said, and Al thought at first he was going to utter some inane apology for his relationship- because whatever Ed said about it just being one night, it was clear to Al it was more than that- with Winry, but he didn't. "There's something I need to tell you about what happened today."

"What is it?"

Ed lowered his voice, and Al moved away from the doorway. "Two things, actually. One, I kind of got arrested-"

"_What?_"

"Shhh," Ed reminded him. "They let me go. It was clear that I didn't start the fight. But I'd say the entire police station at Central's seen me. If anyone recognized me, no one said anything, and I left. So whenever you're ready to explain to me exactly how bad it would be if the military knew I was alive, I'm all ears."

"The military and the police are two different entities now, brother," Al told him, but the same worry had clouded his expression once again. "They're not related anymore."

"Yeah, but they called the military investigators, because the guy who attacked me, the one who was bothering Scheizka? He was wearing a uniform."

"Shit."

"Yeah."

"What's the other thing, Brother?"

"Their package tore open. There were red stones inside."


	7. Chapter Four, Part Two: Celebrations

**Chapter Four, Part Two: **Celebrations

"Are you done?" Winry asked crossly, jabbing him in the chest with her finger.

"Done what?" Al asked innocently, going over to stand by the window, watching the late afternoon light pull long shadows off the tall buildings of Central.

"Telling secrets," she accused.

He looked at her, startled, his expression pleading.

"That's what you were doing, I know you were. Don't tell me you weren't."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she interrupted.

"Never mind, I know you're not going to tell me. Neither of you ever tell me anything."

Al frowned, hurt flickering behind his eyes. "That's not true! I tell you all kinds of things, even stuff that's supposed to be top-secret military information! I've answered everything you've ever asked me!"

"Ed doesn't," she snapped.

Al jerked the plush hotel curtains over the large window, and turned to face her. "Ed doesn't tell me everything either," he snapped back. "And anyway, we're not the same person, so don't yell at me for something you're mad at him about."

"I'm not yelling at you!" she protested, and her expression softened. "I'm not mad at him," she added, resigned. "I'm just frustrated."

He raised his eyebrows, his grey eyes turned sympathetic. "I know, so am I. I feel like he's…" his voice trailed off, uncertain suddenly of what he was trying to say.

"He's a stranger," she finished quietly.

* * *

"Wow, Boss, I heard you grew-"

Ed grinned, looking down at himself. "I _did _grow," he said proudly.

"But you're still nowhere _near _as tall as your brother," Havoc finished, waiting for the upcoming explosion.

Ed puffed up his chest, standing up as straight as possible, willing his vertebrae to stretch enough to add him just a speck more stature. "I am of perfectly _average _height," he insisted, looking up at the man he hadn't seen in ten years. "What kind of greeting is that, anyway?" he complained. "That would be like me asking if you've managed to get a date yet!"

"Actually," Havoc said smugly, exchanging amused glances with Hawkeye, "I did take Riza out the other day."

Ed did not see Roy flinch at the words, and asked, "Really? Did you have a nice time?"

"No," Riza said smoothly. "It was a disaster."

Havoc seemed unphased, and gave him a slap on the back. "So, you grew, but not that much. I got a date, but still no girlfriend. Things haven't changed too much while you've been gone, have they?"

"Oh not that much" Ed said sarcastically. "We just live in a completely different country now, so it seems."

Havoc waved his hand dismissively, taking a drag from his cigarette. "Oh yes, there is that, but that's work. Let's not discuss work while we're out, all right?"

"Oh, but it's not work," Ed protested. "I thought the military and the government were entirely separate now?" He folded his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair, kicking his foot up on the low table in front of him. The room they were in was large and square, with a big window leading out to a balcony overlooking the lights of the city.

"If we can't talk about work," Roy said lightly, sitting opposite from Ed and mirroring his impulse to put his feet on the table and looking over at General Hawkeye, "May I ask you a question?"

Riza looked at him for a moment, then answered, "I suppose so."

"Was your disaster of a date on the news broadcast the other day?"

She tried to hide her smile behind her hand, and turned away. "Why? Were you starting to get jealous?"

Roy shrugged. "What if I said yes?" he asked, keeping his voice light, conversational, natural.

"Then I would say you were wasting your time." She looked up, saw that the conversation in the room was continuing without them, and decided to add, "But, I've wanted to tell you: I had a very nice time at that diplomatic banquet last month. Your company at those kinds of events is always a pleasure, especially when we don't have anything to hide. I haven't seen you since then, have I?"

Roy shook his head. He would keep this exchange professional, he resolved. "No, I don't believe so. How do you feel about the government's move towards friendlier relations with Xing?"

She tapped her chin. "I thought the Xingian diplomats were very cordial. They spoke our language very well; I was impressed with that. However, they seemed very distant, almost as if they were on an entirely different page. I don't know if it was just a cultural difference, or if they really were hiding something."

"Everyone's hiding something," Roy said seriously.

* * *

"To the man who returned from death!" Havoc said, standing up from his seat at the table, raising his half-full glass.

The others reached for theirs as well, but Ed slammed his hand down on the table in protest. "I wasn't dead!" he said. "Whoever said I was dead?"

"But you have a grave," Havoc told him, looking down, glass still raised. "Now let me make my toast. To Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist, the man who returned from death!" he repeated, with twice the bravado this time, and glasses were clinked.

Wearily, Ed raised his own. "Shouldn't this be Al's day?" he continued once he set it down, still protesting. "He's the one who's the star of Central these days, isn't he? Tomorrow's paper's gonna have his antics at the State Examinations all over it, I'm sure."

Al rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Brother, you know this day is for you," he told him, gesturing towards the three people in military uniforms. "I see these guys every day at work, they hardly needed to make a special appearance here just to say congratulations to me." Al frowned a little when he saw his brother blush at the attention. Hadn't Ed been an attention whore? Hadn't he always been showing off his alchemy to everyone, or his intelligence, or his fighting skills?

Ed sighed. "Well, Al, I wouldn't be here without you, so we've gotta toast you too."

"To Alphonse Elric, Soul Alchemist-"

Ed stood, shoving Havoc aside. "Hey, I'm his brother, lemme say the toast," he said, and Al smiled, seeing that confidence he remembered take hold once more.

"To my little brother, who's everything I ever hoped he would be and more, who never ceases to delight me, and of whom I could never be prouder."

Al could feel the grin that lit up his face as the glasses clinked above his head, and could not help but jump up and wrap his arms around his brother, embracing him as tightly as he had when he first encountered him again in the Gate. The others stared at this show of affection, something each one of them never thought they would ever see: both Elrics, in the flesh, and together.

"Such love!" Havoc said finally, breaking the silence with a booming voice, posturing this way and that. "Such brotherly love, makes me want to tear my shirt off and flex my muscles in the Armstrong family way!" he cried, and Riza laughed.

"No one can do Armstrong like Breda," she said, still laughing, and looking over at Roy, who also seemed greatly amused.

Ed sat down next to his brother, one arm still wrapped around his shoulders.

"That was a good toast, Brother," Al said, after he had suppressed most of his laugher. "Thank you."

"I love you too, Al," Ed answered.

The conversation had traveled from the whereabouts of various military people Ed had known to stories about Al that had made him famous to stories about Al only those who were close to him knew. When Havoc asked Ed to please, share just a little bit about where he had been for six years, Al expected Ed to close everyone off and refuse to say anything, but his brother hesitated just a moment before answering.

"It was somewhere kind of like here, but not really," he said vaguely, turning his still-full glass in circles on the table. "There's nothing really exciting to tell. There was no alchemy there, and no automail. Without either one, I'm really pretty boring, aren't I?"

_An Ed without alchemy is just… a foul-mouthed obnoxious brat… _who had said that long ago, Al tried to recall. Had it been Havoc, or was it someone else? Was it Colonel Mustang? _Brother hadn't even denied it, he just said he needed to come back to Rizembool to get his arm fixed so he could use his alchemy to fix me… _But as soon as he had the memory, it was gone, and Al didn't know if anything like that had ever actually been said, or if he had imagined it.

Ed was saying something about a job he had once had at a university when Havoc interrupted him. "What were the girls in this other world like, Boss?"

"Eh? The girls? I don't know, what are all girls like?" Ed asked, puzzled.

"Didya meet any?"

Ed shrugged. "A few. I knew some nice girls," he answered vaguely.

"Get any dates?"

Ed shrugged again. "No, why would I want to? I was leaving, what would be the point?"

_Yes, Ed, what _was _the point? Do you have any idea how much that other Al must be missing you right now? You must know, if you loved him the way you say you do._ Al wondered, not for the first time, how his counterpart was faring on the other side of the Gate.

"I'm not a kid," Ed was saying stubbornly. "I don't need to discover the world of women, you've got to be kidding if you think you're going to drag me around to all the bars in Central anyway, I thought I was supposed to be dead?"

_I guess Havoc doesn't know about Brother and Winry. I'm not even sure if General Hawkeye knows. General Mustang probably does, _Al mused. _Brother probably tells him everything._

"In six years, you never had a date? Not even once? Man, I'm doing better than I thought I was, compared to you!"

Then Winry was squeezing his arm. "Hey, Al, you okay in there?" she asked quietly, while Ed was still arguing stubbornly.

Al shook his head to clear it. "Yeah," he said finally. "I was just… remembering some things."

"About the other side?" she guessed.

"Partly."

"I AM NOT A KID," Ed said loudly, in response to something that neither of them heard, jumping to his feet and shaking the table.

"Well you certainly are acting like one," Riza said firmly, but her eyes showed more amusement than disapproval.

He folded his arms. "So what?" Ed demanded. "I never said I was mature, I just said I wasn't a kid." He smirked. "He keeps giving me this 'when I was your age' crap- Lieutenant, you know how old I am?"

Havoc shrugged. "Well, Al claims to be twenty-one, so I guess you're twenty two, Boss, and really, when I was twenty-two I never would have admitted to never having been on a date."

"It's all right, Ed," Riza assured him, trying to diffuse the situation. "I didn't date much until I was older either."

"I don't _claim _to be twenty-one, I _am _twenty-one," Al argued in a practiced tone. This conversation, it seemed, had been had many a time.

"But Al," Roy said with mock-seriousness, "Just the other day you said you were seventeen."

Al shrugged. "Did I?" he said noncommittally. "well, you know, one of the advantages to having two ages is that neither one is a lie."

Winry nudged him in the side. "Must be convenient," she said teasingly.

Al raised his eyebrows once, looked around from his brother to Havoc to Roy and to Riza, and said boldly, "For you," and she gave him a swat on the shoulder. The group broke out in a fresh round of laughter.

"I think someone told me that Roy's first time was when he was twelve," Havoc mused, looking up at the ceiling.

The General shot his friend a glare. "No, I was not _twelve,_" he said defensively. "Wherever did you hear that one?"

Ed snickered. "He was thirteen," he said, deciding to re-join the conversation. "He told me so. She was his babysitter."

Riza's eyes widened. "You needed a babysitter when you were thirteen?" she asked, her eyebrows raised and her lips twitching up at the corners.

"She wasn't my babysitter then!" Roy sputtered, looking around at the laughing faces. "Don't laugh," he instructed them. "She was beautiful."

Winry shook her head, twisting her dinner napkin in her hands. "That is so wrong!" she exclaimed, causing a round of laughter to spread across the table. She yelped when Al elbowed her in the side. "What?" she demanded defensively. "You said yourself you were eighteen."

Al snorted. "Fine time you pick to believe me, then," he said, smiling at her.

"How did we get on this topic?" Ed demanded, looking from face to face.

"I was nineteen," Riza volunteered. "I, unlike some people, waited until I was at least an adult."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Really? Nineteen? I didn't know that."

She gave a little shrug. "You don't know everything about everyone, Roy," she said, and there was more laughter.

"Apparently not," he agreed. His single eye settled on Ed, who seemed increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. "Well Fullmetal, how old were you? Fifteen? Sixteen?"

Ed drew back, frowning, and shook his head. "I refuse," he said, in his most mature voice, "to participate in this conversation."

"I was seventeen. Shawna with the brown eyes," Havoc said dreamily, and turned to Winry. "You?"

"Twenty," she said simply, setting her chin on her hands and letting her gaze slide over to Al. Then she said something under her breath that apparently only Al caught, and he gave a light laugh.

"Well Ed?" Roy pressed. "We're waiting."

"I said I'm not answering," he repeated stubbornly.

"Were you younger than fifteen, or older than fifteen?" he continued, refusing to let the subject drop.

"I heard a few stories about his involvement with the thief of Aquaroya," Riza said wickedly, feeling slightly guilty about causing him discomfort but reminding herself it was all in fun. "Psiren, wasn't she called?"

"It was nothing like that!" Ed sputtered, setting his glass down with a clatter. "I captured her, she escaped- I don't see how that can possibly involve sex!"

Roy tapped his chin. "Well…" he said, letting his voice trail off suggestively.

"Oh shut _up!"_ Ed said, glaring at the man.

Winry folded her arms across her chest, sitting back in the chair. "Well, now I'm really curious, Ed," she said honestly, still laughing. "Is it a secret, or something?"

His gaze swung over to meet her eyes.

"Come on, Ed," Roy pressed. "How old were you the first time you slept with a woman?"

The blond remained resolutely silent.

"Eighteen?" came Riza's guess. Ed steeled his gaze and refused to answer.

"Fourteen?" was Roy's venture. He shook his head, expression almost horrified.

"Twenty one?" Winry offered, taking into account his reaction to the previous suggestion.

He pushed his chair away from the table, standing up. "Twenty six," he said, his voice flat, and turned to walk away.

Havoc pushed his own chair back with a scrape, and leaned back to watch Ed leave. "C'mon, Boss, come back!" he called. "We didn't mean to embarrass you that much!" he said, the conversation, in his perception, still friendly. His eyes widened when the door slammed.

"Shut up!" came the yell from out in the hall.

Roy sighed, setting his glass down as well. "Al," he said patiently. "Do you want to go get your brother, or should I?"

Al frowned. "I'll get him," he said. "That wasn't very nice," he added over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

"We were just-" Havoc said, flinching at the second slam of the door, "teasing-"

* * *

_I ruin everything,_ Ed thought miserably, staring down at a book he wasn't reading as he sat on the hotel room couch he intended on sleeping on that night. _Havoc was right, they were all just teasing._

He had, of course, let Al coax him back into the room. He would do anything Al asked him to, but his mood never did pick back up. Long before the others were ready to retire for the evening, he had said he was tired, and was going to bed. When Al and Winry returned to the hotel room several hours later, he had pretended he was sleeping and let them turn the lamp off and throw a blanket over him.

_I'm not trying to come between Al and Winry, _he told himself then, not for the first time, looking over at the closed door to the bedroom. _If I haven't ruined things for them already. _He stood up, deciding suddenly that he wanted some air, and grabbed Al's room key off the coffee table and headed back to the room they had reserved for the evening, pulling the doors to the balcony open with a jerk and letting the chill air assault him as he stepped outside.

This was definitely going to be another sleepless night, just one among many.

Ed suddenly felt eyes on his back, and spun around, looking up to see a dark silhouette on the sloping roof. "What are you doing up there?" he demanded.

"Looking out at the city lights," came the response. "That's what you do when you can't see the stars."

"Pshh," Ed said, rolling his eyes. "Nothing is like the night sky in Rizembool. Central's not that great, it's nothing I've never seen before."

"Not from above, you haven't," Roy protested, crouching down on the roof. "Come see for yourself."

"I can see fine from here."

"You have a perfect view of the building next door," he corrected, laughing. "Come on."

Ed eyed him hesitantly, contemplating the narrow railing that connected with the wall of the building, halfway between the deck and the edge of the roof. "I'll fall," he said doubtfully. "My leg-"

Roy extended a hand. "I wont let you fall," he said firmly.

Ed stared at the outstretched hand for a moment, then shrugged and took it, climbing slowly onto the rail and letting Roy pull him up onto the roof.

"I'm surprised Miss Rockbell hasn't talked you into letting her fix you up with new automail," he said, eyebrows raised. "In fact, I'm surprised you haven't demanded it."

Ed groaned. "You know every single person I've met up with today has asked me that? Apparently my automail is the first thing everyone thinks of when they remember me!"

"Ed, you're the Fullmetal Alchemist. It's part of your title, of course people associate it with you."

"Do you have any idea how incapacitating surgery like that is?" he continued, with the same frustrated tone. "Believe me, I would _love_ to be able to move normally again, you have no idea how frustrated I get knowing that even though I'm back in a world where automail exists I still get treated like an invalid," his eyes were darkly accusing here, and Mustang could recall several instances where he was the offending party, "But it would take at _least_ a year to recover, probably even more."

"You did it before, and you were just a child."

He sighed. "I know I did. I did it because I thought I had to. But I had Auntie, and Winry, and Al all there to take care of me. Between her business and taking care of the baby, Winry's really got her hands full, and I'm worried about her. I think she takes on more work than one person can accomplish in a day. Al works in Central for most of the week, so he isn't always around to help out with the baby, and if I was recovering from surgery I couldn't ask Winry to take care of me _and _the baby by herself. It wouldn't be fair."

"Why don't you ask Al to ask his commanding officer to put him on leave?" Roy suggested.

Ed leaned back, folding his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out on the roof. "That's an idea," he conceded.

"I'm sorry our teasing made you angry earlier," Roy said after a few minutes of silence.

"I wasn't angry, I was embarrassed."

"I'm sorry we embarrassed you then." Apologies were much easier in the darkness.

"Don't worry about it," came the toneless response.

The older man gestured towards the flickering lights below. "Well?" he demanded, clearly expecting him to be impressed.

Ed scoffed. "You were born in a city, weren't you?" he said haughtily. "Born and raised in one. You had to have been to think this is anything compared to a clear night of stars."

Roy shook his head. "I've been all over the country, Ed, and to a good part of the rest of the world. I know a good sight when I see one. This," he said, waving towards the expanse of lights again, "is our greatest accomplishment."

"Electricity?"

He laughed. "Civilization."

Ed looked over to him. "Are you drunk?"

Roy lifted the small flask in response, giving it a shake so Ed could hear the liquor slosh from side to side.

He rolled his eyes. "Roy, did it ever occur to you that drinking on the roof might not be the best idea?"

The man smiled in the darkness, glancing over and Ed's small form stretched out on the sloped surface. "I haven't really had that much," he said, "it's mostly full." He offered the small container to Ed, who promptly waved it away. "What's the matter, Fullmetal?" he teased. "You don't like to drink?" Roy recalled suddenly that Ed had not touched the wine all evening.

Ed gave a short laugh. "Not really. Especially not on the top of an eight story building."

They sat in silence for a moment, each looking out at the lights of the city and lost in his own thoughts. "What are you doing out here?" Roy asked him suddenly. "I thought you were tired."

Thankful that Roy could not see him blush in the darkness, he said, "Well, ah, I wanted to make sure Al and Winry get some time alone."

Roy raised an eyebrow.

"I think Kaiya's finally learned to sleep the whole night through, and, ah, that means that neither of them will have to keep getting up to check on her, so they could do… something else."

Roy chuckled softly to himself, and knew Ed was glaring at him even if he couldn't see it in the low light. He rose to his feet on the sloped roof. "Come on," he said, extending a hand to the younger man. "You're clearly unimpressed with this remarkable view-" he gestured towards the lights "-lets go for a drink."

Ed opened his mouth to protest, but Roy stopped him. "I'm sure they'll serve you fruit juice without you even asking for it, seeing how you're so-"

"I"VE GROWN AS YOU CLEARLY HAVE NOT NOTICED," Ed growled threateningly, refusing Roy's hand and standing up on his own. "I will NOT drink JUICE from a SIPPY CUP at a BAR," he added fiercely.

Roy hopped down gracefully from the roof to the railing and the railing to the porch, extending a hand again to Ed, which he again refused. "So that's a yes, then," he said smoothly, one charcoal eye gleaming in the dark. "And no one said anything about a sippy cup, calm down," he added, watching with veiled concern as Ed climbed awkwardly down, landing unsteadily on his feet.

He stood in front of Roy, hands on his hips. "You're not so tall yourself, Colonel Bastard," he said fiercely.

Roy was smug. "Ah, but you forget I'm a General now. My rank overpowers my height, which is still considerably taller than yours anyway, I'm afraid." Ed began to sputter another protest, but Roy simply gave him a slight push at the small of his back, ushering him back into the hotel. "On to that drink," he said, laughing.

The bar Roy took him to was several blocks from the hotel, one that Roy apparently frequented quite often, seeing how the bartender called him by name. "Two scotch on the rocks," he ordered promptly, and laughed when Ed stared warily down into the short glass. "Never drank scotch before, Fullmetal?" he teased.

Ed shot him a glare. "Don't you think," he said pointedly, "If no one is supposed to recognize me, you had better not call me that?"

Roy simply shrugged. "Edward, then," he amended. "It's a habit, you know."

"I have drunk scotch before," Ed said, glaring down at the drink, "and it kicked my ass. You're trying to get me drunk," he accused.

Raising an eyebrow, he suggested innocently, "Fruit juice?" trying to push his friend to the boiling point.

Ed took a defiant gulp of the golden liquid, _like his eyes,_ Roy thought suddenly, noticing that Ed did not even flinch as he swallowed the fiery drink, as he had expected him to. "You," the blond said, pointing a finger in the older man's face, "are one manipulative bastard," he accused. "You are just waiting for me to throw some kind of temper tantrum over this." He narrowed his eyes, his expression suddenly gleeful. "You _missed _those explosions of mine!" he realized suddenly, laughing, taking another sip of scotch.

Roy simply gazed at him, unphased, and drained the glass in one long swig, before the ice could even melt. The bartender replaced it without a word.

Ed quirked one eyebrow up, watching with curiosity. "You always drink this much?" he asked finally.

"Yes," Roy said evenly, taking a slower sip, draining only half the glass.

Ed shook his head, smiling down at his nowhere near empty drink.

Roy was looking at him with that damnable smirk again, making Ed rise even though he was determined not to.

"_What?"_ he all but snapped, and Roy chuckled. "Quit laughing at me!"

The General shook his head. "You surprise me, Edward," he said, single eye glinting and the smirk growing. "You're all grown up now, and you're nothing like I thought you would be."

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. "What did you think I'd be like?"

Roy leaned back in his chair. Now that they were in a well-lit room, and not the darkness of the rooftop, he had no qualms about continuing to tease. "Well, take the conversation over dinner, for one."

"The one about building bridges with alchemy? Look, I told you before, I've been away from alchemy for ten years. Alchemy didn't _work _where I was; I had to learn something else. Excuse _me _if I'm not up to date on the latest theories," he said defensively, stirring his scotch.

"Oh, not that conversation," Roy said. "The other one. I never thought you were so shy about things like sex. We're all adults now, I thought we could have a conversation like that without you leaving the room, but apparently I was wrong."

Ed banged the glass down on the bar, having emptied it moments before. Roy signaled to the bartender and before Ed could stop him there was a new drink in front of him, and one for Roy as well, causing him to drain the glass he had. Ed glared at him, pointing to the new glass. "First, I am not drinking that," he said defiantly.

"Ah, you're a lightweight," Roy teased. "And second?" he prompted, after watching Ed seethe.

"At least I'm not a lush," Ed bit back. "Second," he continued, taking one small sip from the new drink, "I am not shy."

"You _are_," the older man insisted playfully. "I've never seen you turn that red."

Ed frowned. "I just don't like my personal life being announced to everyone, okay? Is that so hard to understand?"

Roy refused to accept that. "Twenty six is awfully old to be a virgin," he began tauntingly.

"I WAS NOT A VIRGIN AND WE ARE NOT DISCUSSING THIS!" Ed shouted, his face mere inches from Roy's, scotch hot on his breath, the commotion causing the pair to be momentarily the center of attention. He slumped back down onto the bar stool and glared at the world for a moment before he took another sharp sip of scotch, his cheeks flushing again from alcohol or embarrassment or both, setting the glass down and dropping his forehead onto his hand. "This is why I didn't want to drink," he muttered under his breath. "Especially not with you," he said accusingly, turning to face Roy but not lifting his head, so his bangs fell over his face, obscuring his eyes. "You always provoke me too damn easily. Keep refilling that glass and you'll get your tantrum, I guarantee you. And then, _General_ Bastard," he added, lifting his head and shoving his hair out of his face, eyes narrowed, "we'll both get kicked out of the bar. How do you like _that_ for the latest round of gossip about the mighty Flame Alchemist?"

"Fine, I won't say another word," Roy conceded, realizing that Ed seemed to be speaking from experience. Somehow he had no trouble envisioning him getting kicked out of many a bar.

Ed had picked a fork up, snatched it from somewhere behind the bar, Roy guessed, and gestured at him with it. "You and Al might know all about the best way to transmute a bridge," he said loftily, "But I know how to build a machine that can fly through the sky."

Roy frowned. "Why would anyone want to do that?" he asked, accepting the change in subject for the sake of a tantrum-free evening.

Ed shrugged. "Some people are crazy I guess. They want to fly around up there with the clouds."

The General seemed interested. "Really? Aren't they afraid that their machine will fall out of the sky?"

"I guess not," Ed said, "although," he admitted, "I sure would be." He took one very small sip from his drink. "They're good for war, too," he added. "If you have a flying machine, you can fly over your enemy and drop bombs on them."

Roy shuddered. "That sounds horrible," he said, and Ed nodded. "That sounds like the way to annihilate the entire world."

"They nearly did. They called it the Great War."

"They?"

"They said if there will never be a war so terrible, or so destructive, because if the entire world ever goes to war like that again, it will be the end." His eyes had a hollow look to them, Roy saw, and he wanted to take back his earlier statement, that Ed had not grown up the way he thought he would. He had grown up exactly the way he thought he would. Older, wiser, and no less abused by the world as he had been as a child.

Ed stared down at his drink for a while before taking another sip. After draining the glass, he held up the fork, waving it in front of Roy's face. "Check this out," he instructed, laying his metal hand flat on the bar and pushing the fingers apart with his flesh hand. "Now," he said seriously, holding up the fork. "Imagine this is a knife."

Roy cooperatively agreed, and watched with growing amusement as Ed jabbed the fork down into the bar between each finger in a rapid pattern. Then the younger man drained a good portion of the scotch that had miraculously appeared in what was supposed to remain an empty glass, and held up the fork again. "Remember," he said with the same seriousness, "this is a knife." He began the same rapid pattern, jabbing the spaces between his fingers, paused, took another sip, and continued, finally missing a space and stabbing a finger.

Roy jumped involuntarily, and Ed grinned up at him.

"Gotcha," he said, eyes glinting amber in the low light of the bar. He waved the fork around. "And this isn't even a knife." He rapped the back of the fork on his false hand, letting the sound of metal on metal carry across the bar, grinning.

"You _are_ drunk," Roy realized, shaking his head.

"That's what you wanted, isn't it?" Ed replied, leaning his shoulder into Roy's and smiling charmingly up at him. "That's the point of going out for a drink, isn't it? And then I end up in your bed," he concluded, not blushing at all, and finishing off the third glass of scotch. He slammed the glass down on the bar and laughed at Roy's gaping expression. "I'm _kidding,_" he said, snickering deviously. Then he snatched the empty glass away from the bartender. "No more, thanks, I think I'm flagged," he told the man.

Roy pulled the glass out of Edward's hand. "Get him another," he instructed, handing it to the bartender. "I think I like you like this," he said, smirking.

Ed plopped his chin onto his hand, staring at the golden liquid. "You're going to drink that one," he told Roy, "or it isn't getting drinked- dranken- drunkend," he insisted, tripping over the words. "I'm about to get ridiculous," he said seriously, his voice only slightly slurred.

Roy raised an eyebrow. "I think, Ed, that you _are_ ridiculous."

Ed tipped his head on his hand, turning the world sideways. "'Member when I kissed you at that party?"

Rolling his eye, Roy stared up at the ceiling. "Yes," he said to the rafters. "How could I forget that?"

"I was so embarrassed. It was like, that moment that every teenager dreams about, only gone horr'bly wrong," he said, slurring his words just a little bit. "I always thought Winry would be my first kiss, but it was you. And you know, I think I was drinking that night, too, trying to seem grown up or something. Someb'dy let me have champagne. I always do dumb stuff when I drink."

When he looked down, Ed was staring into the scotch he swore he would not touch.

He pushed the glass over to occupy the space in front of the older man. "Here, you drink this. I don't want any more. I've prob'ly already embarrassed myself enough and don't even realize it. Like telling you it was a really good kiss. I prob'ly shouldn't say that, not now. I should have told you right then."

"I think you did, Ed," Roy said, his voice low.

He tilted his head farther to the side, watching the bar spin with the movement. "Did I?" he asked. Then he sighed. "That's good. Then I called you and told you to forget it happened. You didn't forget though, did you?"

Roy shook his head silently, but Ed seemed to expect some kind of additional response from him. "Do you want to try it again?" he asked finally, his voice even lower, not even sure if he wanted what he was asking, or if it was the question Ed wanted to hear.

Ed picked up the fork again, stabbing it into the bar so hard that it stuck this time. "No," he snapped, suddenly defensive. "I'm not a dumb kid anymore." Not looking up, he pressed down on the handle of the fork, watching it spring back to an upright position. His expression softened, and he settled his chin on his hand. "Besides, it wouldn't be the same, anyway, would it?" he asked softly, pressing the end of the fork again and following it with his eyes as it flew across the bar and crashed into a row of empty pint glasses. He watched numbly as they rolled across the bar, staring as first one, then a second smashed onto the floor. "Wasn't me," he called, feigning innocence when the bartender had spun around to see what had happened.

The man glared at the pair. "That's going on your tab," he said crossly. Then he turned to Roy and said, "Sir, I'm not sure you should be letting your son drink so much."

Roy threw back his head and laughed while Ed grew redder and redder, a vein twitching violently in his forehead. Then he watched with dread as Ed tipped his head back, downing the scotch he had sworn he wouldn't touch.

* * *

He deposited the swaying blond onto the bed, and set to work removing his shoes. Half mumbled, incoherent protests came from under the pillow Ed had shoved over his face, but Roy patiently worked the boots off of first the flesh foot, and then the wooden one.

"Roy?" came the voice from beneath the pillow.

"Yes?" he asked patiently, pulling off the socks next.

"What am I doing here?" He sounded worried, pushing the pillow off his face and half sitting up. "Everything's spinning…"

"Shhh, Ed, everything's okay. You just drank too much. You're going to sleep it off. Here," he said, pulling him to a sitting position. "Don't sleep in your clothes, I'll give you some pajamas." Roy began to unbutton his shirt, but Ed batted his hand away, scowling.

"I can undress myself," he mumbled defensively, his fingers fumbling with the buttons, pulling at them in one-handed frustration. "'M not a cripple."

"I know you're not," he said gently, feeling his stomach twist. "But you're also barely conscious." His hand closed over Ed's, pulling it away from his shirt, and he looked up into half open gold eyes. "Don't worry, you wont even remember this tomorrow."

"Yes I will," the younger man said sullenly, but allowed Roy to slide his shirt off his shoulders, and flopped back down on the bed to let him pull his pants off, barely aware of the struggle it took to get them unzipped and over his narrow hips.

"I very much doubt that," Roy assured him, glancing with concern at the straps that held the wooden leg in place. Almost without realizing it he fingered his eye patch, remembering how the doctor had warned him against sleeping with it on, something about it being bad for circulation to sleep with anything pressing into the skin. He had slept with it on anyway, at first, when he spent his first nights with Riza, but had ended up with painful, raw indentations on his face and forehead. She had assured him that it didn't bother her to see him without it, and he had abandoned the attempt entirely. "Ed?" he inquired. When there was no response, he repeated himself, a little louder. "Ed?"

"Whaddya want?" he slurred, eyes not even flickering open this time.

He knocked his knuckles lightly against the wooden limb. "You sleep with this on?"

"Huh?" Ed dragged his flesh hand across his face, rubbing at his eyes and finally opening them a crack, looking over at Roy sitting on the edge of the bed, hand hovering over his prosthesis. "No," he said firmly, sitting up unsteadily. "No, no, defin'ly not," he repeated, tugging at the buckle with one uncoordinated hand but managing to work it loose, giving the thing a shove and hearing it slide off the bed with a clatter. He grabbed at the blanket and jerked it over his leg and a half, obscuring the reddened stump from sight. "M'sorry I got so drunk," he mumbled. "Sorry. Sorry I'm gonna pass out in your bed."

Roy shook his head, feeling a small (very small) stab of guilt. "Well, I should have listened to you when you said you had enough."

Ed shook his head roughly. "_I_ should have listened to me," he insisted, falling back once more onto the bed. "Don't you take advantage of me while I'm drunk, Colonel Bastard," he added in a slurred voice.

Roy was reaching over to switch off the light, but paused, startled. "I would never-"

"You wait until I'm sober enough to remember everything."

Roy blinked, smirking, and stood up. "Go to sleep, Ed," he said softly, turning off the lamp and shaking his head.

* * *

Ed woke in the morning to the sight of one General Mustang, dressed casually in blue jeans and a white t-shirt, offering him a glass of water and two white pills. Roy had watched him sleep for a full five minutes, smiling inwardly at the way he clutched the blanket in his flesh hand, holding it to his face in a child-like gesture, his eyebrows drawn together even in his sleep. The first words out of his mouth were an incoherent slur, but he sat up and accepted the water and the aspirin, finishing the glass and setting it on the bedside table. Only then did he fully open his eyes and look around in first confusion and then horror, throwing himself back down into the bed and covering his head with a pillow. "I'm never doing that ever again!" came the muffled cry.

The General laughed softly. "Do you feel sick?" he inquired.

Edward removed the pillow and sat halfway up again and looked down at himself. "Where are my clothes?" he demanded. "Why am I in your bed with no clothes on?"

Roy gestured towards the sloppy pile beside the bed, and said, "Because you passed out before I could give you any pajamas," and laughed again.

Ed reached over the edge of the bed to collect the pile, shaking out his shirt, and then threw it down, snatching the blanket up over himself. "Don't watch me get dressed!" he snapped, feeling his cheeks burning. "Go away!"

That damnable smirk spreading across his face again, Roy just shook his head. "Why should I have to go away? This is my room, after all."

"Well you're the one who put me here, apparently," Ed retorted. "Now give me some privacy!"

Roy waved his hand in dismissal, exiting the room, his smirk visible even with his back turned. "Come out when you're decent, and I'll take you to breakfast. I don't know what you're so shy about, I've already seen everything anyway," he called from the hall.

_Damn that Colonel Bastard_ –General Bastard, he corrected himself mentally- _what is he playing at?_ "I'm not shy!" he shouted at the doorway. "And you didn't see anything, I'm not stupid, I remember that much!" He was glad Roy was not watching him, because he did not want him to see the flush he knew had crept into his cheeks at the mere suggestion of the man seeing him undressed.

Roy Mustang did not know what to make of the young man upstairs. He didn't know if Ed even remembered the things he had said to him the night before, and again he felt slightly guilty for making him drink so much when he said he didn't want to drink at all. _But I didn't make him, _he reminded himself. _He's not a kid anymore, he can make his own decisions. I have nothing to feel guilty about. _

But still, there was that nagging voice inside him, telling him that even though Ed was an adult, that didn't mean he had life all figured out. Hell, he had spent ten years in a whole other world, where he said things were completely different than they were in Amestris. Roy never had children, had always told himself that he never wanted children, but he had always thought that he was meant to protect the Elric brothers. Not be their father, not be a substitute parent, hell, he would make a horrible parent, but to… well, to be there for them. And, for the most part, he was. Those boys had next to nobody in the world, and compared to nobody, at least he was somebody, and he tried to take that role seriously.

He remembered the offer he had made Ed, years ago when he was fifteen, the night after the Fuhrer's birthday party, that if he ever wanted to talk about anything, he would be there, and decided to extend the offer again over breakfast. That way, if Ed wanted to, he could talk about what he had said the night before. And if he didn't want to, or couldn't remember, then they were just two friends having breakfast together.

Once inside the diner, Roy listened in awe as Ed ordered fried eggs, bacon, toast, sausage, potatoes, fruit, pancakes, and several cinnamon rolls. He watched the younger man shrug when the waitress asked if he was sure he was going to eat all that, and pounded his stomach. "Yep, I can eat it," he assured her. She gave him a skeptical look, but moved on to Roy's ordinary-sized order and a coffee. "Oh!" he interrupted. "Coffee too," he told her. "And orange juice. A big glass," he added, and she rolled her eyes as she walked away. Roy was rolling his eye as well. "What?" Ed demanded.

"Are you trying to bankrupt me?"

Ed just shrugged again. "You're a General now, you can afford to buy me as much breakfast as I can eat."

Roy just looked at him. "With the way you eat, I'm not sure that I can." After a moment, he added, "Are you _sure _you want to eat all that? You're _sure _you don't feel sick from drinking?"

He scowled. "I feel like _shit _from drinking, thanks for reminding me. But I wont get sick, if that's what you're asking."

Roy ran a hand through his fall of black hair, his fingers skimming over the black straps of his eye patch with a practiced ease, careful-as-always not to disturb it. He took a deep breath, and leaned forward across the table. "Edward, how have things been going for you?" he asked, careful to keep his voice friendly and not overly concerned.

Ed leaned back in the booth of the diner and sighed. "Things have been great. I'm glad to be back," he said, but the words sounded oddly forced.

"Is there anything you want to talk about?" he asked hesitantly.

Ed frowned. "No… not really," he said, puzzled. "We could talk about the baby," he suggested. "She's- she keeps me sane in that house, I swear. I think I'm in love with her."

Roy raised an eyebrow. "Pardon?" he said, thinking it an odd thing to say.

Ed just shrugged again. "Well… I think about her all the time. Whenever I don't see her, I miss her. Whenever I do see her," he paused, and smiled. "I'm happy," he finished.

_Do you think she's really your daughter? _he wanted to ask, but he was sure Ed had been asked that question before, and he had a guess that the answer might be _does it really matter? _

"I worry about her, though," he admitted. "I hope she grows up okay. Even with three of us, none of us knows what we're doing. And I think I might be genetically dispositioned to be a bad father." Roy opened his mouth to protest that, but Ed kept speaking. "Al always tells me not to say that, but I have to wonder. I guess she's gonna call Winry mom, of course, and Al dad, since they're a couple. It'll just make more sense to her, that way. And she can just call me Ed. And that's okay," he added.

Their food arrived then, Ed's breakfast taking up most of the table, and the conversation was halted as Roy watched in disbelief as the younger man polished off most of what was in front of him, slowing down only when he had half a bowl of fruit salad and a cinnamon roll left. Roy pulled his own roll apart, unwinding it slowly, careful not to get his fingers overly sticky, and ate it section by section. Ed, who had eaten his first two practically whole, began to copy Roy, pulling the roll apart with the fingers of his left hand. Roy noticed then that he had taken the glove off his flesh hand, but not the metal one, and that the metal hand had remained in his lap through the entire meal. Thinking back, he realized that he had done the exact same thing at dinner the night before. Thinking further back, he seemed to recall that Ed had _always _eaten like that, even when he had had real automail. Odd, he thought.

"What?" Ed demanded when he caught Roy watching him.

"You're dissecting your roll," Roy said nonchalantly.

"So're you," Ed pointed out. "Another reason," he said, between bites, "that I worry about Kaiya, is that I remember how the other kids in Rizembool treated me and Al, after dad left. They would whisper about us, mom always told me I was imagining it but I know it was happening, and they would ask us questions we couldn't answer, and sometimes I'd make things up, like that that Bastard had been struck by lightening and died, and that's why he didn't live with us anymore."

"But that wont happen to her," Roy protested.

"It will be worse for her!" Ed insisted. "Kids are so mean. Everyone will want to know why she has three parents, why her household isn't normal. And then there's all the stories about me, and all the stories about Al, and Al doesn't even remember which stories are true and which ones aren't-"

"Fullmetal," Roy interrupted sharply, the use of Ed's military name enough to make him pause, "Don't you worry about Kaiya. Kaiya will get enough love; not every child is lucky enough to grow up with three parents. You worry about yourself. What do _you_ want from life, Edward?"

He shrugged, stirring his fruit around in the bowl. "I have everything I want," he said finally. "Al's alive, and human, and whole. That's all I ever wanted, for fifteen years. Now it's true."

Roy looked at him curiously. "So, you're going to spend the rest of your days staring at your brother with that goofy grin on your face? That might get boring, you know."

Ed tried to suppress that same expression Roy spoke of, even as he felt it spreading across his face, and looked down. "No it won't," he said softly. "I'll never get tired of seeing Al. And now," he shrugged again, picking up the last piece of his roll, "now, I have a family. We have a family. I don't know what more I _could _want."

Roy sighed, running his hand through his hair once more. Ed did have a family. Ed had a daughter, biological or otherwise. Who was he to think he could offer him some kind of advice? He, who had ruined the only real relationship he'd ever been in? He, who had ruined his own chances of knowing what it was like to say he was in love with his child?

* * *

"Ed, where were you?" Winry demanded when he returned to their hotel. "We thought something happened to you again!"

Ed rubbed the back of his head. "Huh? Nothing happened. I went to get a drink with Roy."

"But you were gone all night, Brother," Al said suspiciously. "You didn't spend the whole night at a bar, did you?"

"No, I got drunk and passed out at his house," he said, embarrassed. "It sucked. I'm never drinking like that again."

Al raised his eyebrows, and said, "Well, you've missed breakfast, but I could make you some eggs or something."

Ed strode past him to sit down on the couch. "No thanks," he said, waving his hand. "I ate breakfast already.

Alphonse stared at him. "The General made you breakfast?" he asked.

"No, he took me to a diner," Ed said tiredly, falling back into the cushions and closing his eyes. "I think I'm going to go back to sleep."

Winry and Alphonse exchanged glances. "You spent the night with General Mustang," Winry said slowly, "and he took you to breakfast?" She giggled.

Ed's eyes snapped open. "It wasn't like _that,_" he said, glaring at her.

Al flopped down next to his brother on the couch and leaned his head on his flesh shoulder. "You know," he said, his eyes glinting mischievously, "Of all the stories I heard about you, the ones about you and the General were the ones I took the least seriously. Was I wrong?"

Ed frowned. "What stories? What are you talking about?"

Al sat up, looking his brother in the eyes. "The ones about you and Mustang having an affair," he said evenly.

"What?" Ed nearly shrieked, the pitch of his own voice increasing the pounding in his head. He flinched, and halted his tirade mid-protest. "Don't believe everything you hear, Al," he said sourly. "We never had an affair. He was my commanding officer, for god's sake! When was this affair supposed to have taken place? When I was fifteen?"

Al shrugged. "So it isn't true then?" he pressed. "Because, even if it is, brother, it's all right, there are worse people to be involved with than General Mustang-"

Ed raised his eyebrows. "I don't know about that," he said haughtily. "Roy's a pretty manipulative bastard."

"Since when are you on a first name basis?" Winry cut in.

_Since we both went to face our respective deaths, ten years ago, _came his silent response.

"We're friends," he said finally.

Ed had closed his eyes, leaning his head back into the couch, and but could hear Al and Winry bustling around in the hotel room. "Did you see the paper, Brother?" Al asked after a few minutes.

Ed cracked an eye open. "Is it another article insulting my stature?" he asked tiredly. He didn't have the energy to protest it even if it was, right then he was more interested in sleeping off his excellent breakfast, which he believed had done its job in soaking up whatever alcohol might have remained in his system.

"Did anyone say anything to you about there having been terrorist attacks here in Central?" Al asked him.

"Huh?" Ed asked. "No, why?"

"There've been a few, recently, according to the papers."

"Terrorists?" Ed said, opening both eyes and reluctantly sitting up. "From where? Who's attacking us?"

"Apparently it's a group within Amestris," Al said, scanning the article. "Trying to start a civil war."

"You'd better quit the military, Al, before you end up in that war," Ed warned.

Al just looked at him. "I can't quit, I have a contract, Brother, you know that." He sighed. "It's probably not that big of a deal. General Hawkeye didn't say anything about it last night, and neither did General Mustang."

"Yes she did," Ed said, remembering, and snatched the paper from his brother. "Remember, she said she tried to go on a date with Havoc, and there was an explosion, or something like that? And Roy choked on an olive?" He scanned the article. "Right here, it says he was there," he said, pointing to the paragraph.


	8. Chapter Five: The Ghost on the Grave

**Chapter Five: **The Ghost on the Grave

She flinched when she heard someone at the door, and gave a heavy sigh as she set her favorite screwdriver down on the workbench and stood, turning to see who had the nerve to be coming around her automail shop so late in the day. Her skills were much sought-after, and she saw people by appointment only, damnit! The only customer of hers she had ever allowed to break that rule was somewhere upstairs, likely teaching her daughter new ways to slack off.

The door cracked open before she got to it, and she said, "oh!" her voice sounding more breathless than she had ever intended. "Al," she said, her voice more normal, stronger, more solid, "what are you doing down here? And I thought you weren't coming home until tomorrow? And- what's that?" she demanded, drawing back as he shoved a package at her, grinning.

Al shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on the peg on the back of her shop door, and sat down on her work bench, kicking his feet idly. "I dunno, why don't you open it?" he suggested, his grey eyes sparkling.

"You got me a present?" she asked, her tired face lighting up.

He nodded. "It's just something little, but I thought you'd like it," he told her, still kicking his feet into the legs of her bench.

_Miniature screwdrivers? Wire cutters that cut clean enough that the wire doesn't have to be sanded? Screws of rare sizes? A solid titanium wrench that will never knick or scratch? _"Something for she shop?" she guessed, giving the package a shake.

Al laughed at her, leaning back until his shoulder blades were jabbed by the pegs in her wall. He jerked forward, glancing behind him at the rows of tools. "I don't know what you could possibly need for the shop," he teased. "Weren't we just in Rush Valley last year?"

_Something else then?_ She pulled the brown paper off, tossing it to the floor and saw underneath a glossy blue box with a logo on the front. "Shandy's?" she read, puzzled. She pulled the lid off, and lifted out a flat silver object about the size of her palm. It was engraved with a scrolling leaf pattern and had her initials in the center, _WR. _ Pressing the tiny catch with the edge of her fingernail, it popped open, revealing a mirror that _lit up?_

"Ooo!" she exclaimed, snapping it shut and opening it again. "Al, where did you get this? Can I take it apart? I want to see how it works!"

Al just shrugged, hopping off the bench. "Of course you can take it apart, it's yours," he said, looking at her with raised eyebrows. "You're welcome," he added, and she threw her arms around his neck, still clutching the compact in her hand.

"Oh, thank you Al, but why did you get me something? It's not my birthday or anything…" she said, her voice trailing off.

Al shrugged again, pulling his coat off the door and heading up the stairs to the rest of the house. "I thought you'd like it," he said over his shoulder. "Where's Kaiya?"

"Ed's watching her," she called up after him, debating on whether or not to follow Al upstairs or to disassemble the compact first. Either way, no more work in the shop would be done that afternoon.

When Winry did not follow him up the stairs, Al assumed the compact had won. "Brother," he called out, his fingers trailing along the railing on his way up to the top floor. Poking his head in the bedroom, he shook his head. No Ed, but there were clothes strewn about and the bed was unmade. He hung his regulation military coat in his closet, and began undoing his regulation military jacket. This was part of his weekly routine, had been ever since he and Winry had moved to Altenburg: Lieutenant Elric worked in Central for the alchemical research branch and was occasionally given field work by, if not the man himself, a subordinate of General Mustang. Alphonse lived in Altenburg with his girlfriend the automail mechanic. _There's nothing so strange about living two lives, _he had told himself at the time. _This is my second life anyway. _

"Al?" came the delayed answer, from the room next to his, the study. His brother's return hadn't disturbed his routine too terribly; it had merely disturbed his categorization. Altenburg, Ed reminded him often, was never really their home, and Winry, no one needed to remind him, was never really his girlfriend. That fact was clear every time his brother and Winry spoke, every time they touched, even every time they looked at each other.

He heard his brother's mismatched footsteps in the hall before he saw him in the doorway, smirking. "_What?" _he demanded defensively.

"_What _what?" Ed echoed innocently.

Al frowned. "What's with the expression?"

Ed tapped a finger to his chin, his face thoughtful. "Oh, you mean the one of utter disgust?" he asked slowly, his tone teasing.

Al looked at him impatiently, and Ed laughed.

"You. A military uniform. I can't get over it," Ed said, coming into the room and reaching up to ruffle his brother's hair.

"Hey," Al protested. "Don't do that, I'm not a kid!"

Ed laughed again. "Now you sound like me," he said fondly.

"I'm nothing _like _you," Al said, trying to sound offended.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "I can see that," he said, giving the uniform sleeve a tug.

Al slipped out of the military jacket, his eyes glinting mischievously. "I can do a pretty good impression of you, I think," he told him, reaching into the closet for Ed's brown coat. "See, I'm Edward Elric, and I'm wearing my coat I got in this mysterious place called Germany-"

"Hey," Ed protested, "Gimme my coat back!"

"Where I took part in such great adventures as getting thrown out of a bar for starting a fight with someone who called me short-"

Ed's eyes widened. "Hey, that's not exactly how it happened!" he protested.

Al puffed his chest up, tossing his hair out of his eyes and drawing the coat closed over his chest. "-getting arrested because I spent the night in the city library and someone thought I was an intruder-"

The older brother waved his hands frantically. "That was not my fault-" he began, but Al continued between merciless bouts of laughter.

"And being banned from certain floors of the University where my father worked for insisting on arguing with busy professors about the laws of physics-"

"_They were morons!" _Ed raged, but his eyes were amused as ever.

"I'm also single handedly responsible for introducing my landlady to some low-life policeman who is obsessed with taking photographs-"

Ed held up his hand. "Okay, that one was me," he admitted good naturedly, "but it was Al who really took it upon himself to convince her to let him take her out. I can't be blamed completely." He flopped down on the bed, leaning back and letting his head drop over the edge so the room was upside down and his ponytail touched the floor. "Geez, Al, you make me sound like such an immature brat." His chest shook up and down with laughter.

"Hey, don't blame someone else for your escapades," Al said innocently, flopping down next to his brother and letting his own head flop over the edge of the bed. He turned his face to look at him, his features distorted ever so slightly from gravity pulling in the opposite-from-natural direction. "I got something for you in Central," he said.

Ed sat up. "Oh yeah?" he asked. "Where is it?"

Al answered from his still-upside-down vantage point. "On the dresser. It's a book."

"An alchemy book?" Ed said warily, stepping over the clothes he had strewn over the floor from the past few days and picking up the book. "Oh, cool!" he said when he read the title. "I didn't know there was another one!"

"There's a few more, actually." Al told him, sitting up and feeling the blood rush back into the rest of his body from where it had felt like it was pooling in his cheeks and forehead. "They were really popular with the kids when the first one came out, and now people stand in line outside the bookstores all night long to make sure they can get a copy every time a new one is released."

"You think Sheizka's read them?" he asked suddenly.

"Winry's friend? I dunno, she probably did, why?" Al asked curiously.

Ed shrugged. "Next time she's around I'd like to be able to talk to her about something other than aliens and pyramids."

"Pyramids?" Al asked blankly.

"Never mind," Ed said, eyeing his brother sitting on the bed. "Take my coat off, will ya? It's too small for you, and it looks silly, especially over that uniform."

Al dug his hands into the pockets. "I like it," he protested.

Ed pounced on the bed behind him, trying to pull it off his shoulders. "I don't, what's with you and wearing my clothes anyway?" he countered, scrambling after his brother as he sidestepped him into the hall.

"Nothing, I was just teasing you," Al said, voice ever the sound of innocence, edging farther and farther away from his brother, darting back into the room. "And you can't catch me," he added with a grin.

"I can too catch you, and besides, you're done impersonating me, so give it back," Ed argued, grabbing his brother around the waist but groaning when his younger brother was able to worm out of his grip.

And then Al spoke the magic words. "Make me," he said, eyes alight.

The sound of their footsteps thundered across the upstairs hall as Ed tore after his brother, grinning madly. Al's impersonation had been cute, sure, but his younger brother had a habit of adopting his clothing that he did _not _want to continue. He raced down the top flight of stairs, just inches away from catching the little tease, flying through the living room and kitchen and bursting through the door and down the outside stairs above the workshop.

Suddenly Ed felt his balance slide out from under him, and he was tumbling down the stairs. He reached once for the railing and missed it, thudding hard on a few steps before finally getting a firm grasp on the rail and halting his descent only a few feet before colliding with the concrete porch.

By this time Al was out of his sight, and he groaned, standing up again only to be returned jarringly to the ground

"Al!" Ed yelled from the ground. "Get back here!"

He heard the scrambling of his brother's feet on the sidewalk around the side of the house as he hurried back to where he heard Ed's voice. "Ready to give up? Cause I'm not giving you the-" he stopped when he saw Ed on the ground. "What happened?" he said instead, surprise displayed plainly across his face.

"I fell down the steps," Ed said. "Now help your crippled brother off his ass," he directed sharply. _Not giving up quite yet, there's always the distraction method._

"Brother, you're not a cripple, don't say that," Al protested, crossing the porch.

"Well, call me what you will," he said darkly, "but give me a hand, will you?" His expression became almost imperceptibly devious as he reached up for Al's hand and then yanked him down on top of him, wresting the coat from his loose hold and bundling it up safely under his own arm. "Right. It's my coat, and I'll have it back, thank you very much," he said smugly from the ground.

Al sat back on his knees, arms folded. "Brother, that wasn't fair," he complained.

Ed waved his hand airily. "Oh well, all's fair in love and war, you know," he said lightly, turning to get his good leg under him and standing up to take a step, only to come crashing down again.

"Not funny," Al warned him, sounding irritated, and stood, snatching the coat back up again. "I was going to give this back to you, you know, once I proved I could still beat you," he huffed, starting to turn away.

Ed rolled his eyes. "Of course you can beat me, you always could. Now seriously, Al, I need some help here."

Al looked down, eyeing him suspiciously. "Really?" When Ed nodded impatiently, he asked, "What happened?"

His brother frowned. "I told you, I fell down the steps," he said flatly. "Help me up?" The coat was completely forgotten as he grasped his brother's hand and stood up again, hopping a few feet and coming to sit on the stairs. Ed hiked up his pant leg to see what could have dislodged his prosthetic and cursed at the broken leather strap. "Fucking hell," he muttered. The light-hearted mood, the teasing, the deviousness, these were gone from the air. "This is ridiculous, I fucking hate this! Winry!" he bellowed, so that she could hear him from inside her shop.

"Brother," Al protested, "I can fix that with alchemy, you know. If you show this to Winry, she's just going to-"

Ed looked at him witheringly, interrupting his brother. "I can fix it with alchemy too, but I bet you I'll still end up flat on my face one way or the other. I hate being a cripple, I hate being slowed down by my own body, I hate not being in control of my own parts! I'm tired of stumbling on those stairs, I feel pathetic and I've had enough!"

"You're not a-"

"Don't be stupid," he said darkly, sitting silent on the stairs as Al put his hands together with a soft _clap _and transmuted the worn leather straps back together "I guess that'll hold for now," he said, more to himself than to Al.

"What are you two going on about?" Winry demanded from the doorway, hands on her hips. "Who's watching the baby?"

Al looked over at his brother. "Where is the baby?" he asked him.

"Sleeping upstairs," Ed muttered.

Winry glared at one brother and then at the other. "Well I doubt very much she slept through all that, I could hear you all the way down in the shop. Ed, for gods sake, what do you want?"

He fixed her with a determined gaze. "Automail," he said firmly.

* * *

They lay side by side in the bed they had shared ever since returning from Central. As far as Ed knew, Al hadn't spent a single night in Winry's room. Wisely, he never mentioned it.

Sharing the bed with his brother was comforting and terrifying at the same time. When they were kids, Al often slept in his bed because he said he had nightmares, and (when they were still kids) Al had spent countless nights by his brother's bed, holding his only hand in his unfeeling leather gauntlet, the contact only one of them could feel serving to let the older boy know that he was not alone, even in his pain-induced deliriums. Later, when Ed would fall into bed at night, in some inn out in an obscure corner of Amestris or in one of the military dorms they frequented, exhausted, and curl into a ball while his brother sat in a corner, his heart would ache longing to be able to sleep side by side with him again, to feel his cold feet tickling his calves under the covers, to wrap his arms around him in comfort, to lay a head on his shoulder in place of a pillow again.

He thanked his luck, he thanked his brother's boundless intelligence and perseverance, he thanked his own determination every night he could feel his brother's warm, solid, human form next to him. It terrified him because that warm, solid comfort never failed to remind him of sharing his bed with Alphonse Heiderich.

It had begun out of necessity. Alphonse had only one bed, and Edward had slept on the couch when he first moved in. He had never complained, but eventually Alphonse had noticed that night after night on the couch was taking its toll on his friend's physical form, and then there was the matter of the small apartment being very expensive to heat. The first night they had shared a bed, Edward drifted in and out of consciousness, thinking at times it was his brother next to him, and he was ten years old again, and alternately huddling on the very edge of the mattress, afraid he would forget where he was, becoming too content with his present circumstances.

When Alphonse had first flung and arm across his chest, it had been in his sleep, Ed had assumed, and he did not push him away. He lay, in his not-brother's embrace, the guilt burning any sleep out of him that may have been waiting to take hold. When Ed, in a half dream state, curled against his friend's side, Alphonse merely pulled him closer, taking it as a sign that Ed returned his affections. Ed had known, oh, he had known he was playing with fire. But he was drawn like a moth to a flame.

Soft fingers brushed the hair from his face. "Brother?" said the voice, and slowly, golden eyes fluttered open. "Were you sleeping?" Al was half-sitting up, all blue and grey and silver in the moonlight pouring through their window.

Ed shook his head.

"What were you thinking about? You had an odd expression, I thought you might have been having a bad dream," Al said, a concerned frown crossing his face.

Ed sat up, pushing his pillow back against the wall and leaned into it. He looked towards the window, out across the moonlit rooftops of the town, away from his brother. "I'm not sure you want to know," he said quietly.

"Do you miss him?" Al asked softly, revealing that he had already guessed.

His brow creased. "Why would I miss him when I have you?" Ed asked, confused.

"If you love him," Al said, very quietly, staring at the same spot on the windowpane as Ed was, "it's all right to miss him."

In response, Ed lay back down in the bed, pulling the covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes. After a moment, he felt his brother do the same. Cautiously, Al laid his head on his brother's flesh shoulder, in place of a pillow, and, eyes still closed, Ed let himself smile.

"I want to go to Rizembool," Ed said, after several minutes of silence. He could tell by his brother's breathing that he was still awake.

"There's nothing there," Al said into his shoulder.

"Mom's grave is there."

"That's true."

Ed's human fingers played idly with his brother's hair. "I haven't been there in ten years. I want to see it before Winry does the surgery, otherwise it could be another three years until I can get there."

"I thought you recovered in one year?" Al asked, picking his head up and looking at his brother's face, pale in the light from the window.

"I don't know how long it will take to recover," he said vaguely.

After another moment Al laid his head back down. "We can go to Rizembool," he said eventually. "It hasn't been the safest place, because the borders are so unstable, but we can still go. It should be all right; there hasn't been news of any border skirmishes recently. But," he added, "you wont even recognize it. It's not the place we grew up in, not anymore."

"I can handle it."

_I never could, not completely, _Al countered in his mind. He sighed. "_Your _grave is there too, you know," he murmured into his brother's skin.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "My grave?"

"Yeah. You're dead." After some time had elapsed, Al elaborated. "That's pretty much the only reason anyone goes up there anymore. To see your grave. The train doesn't even go that far north, I don't think. No one lives there."

"Maybe you me and Winry can hire a car," he mused.

Al frowned. "Winry wont want to go."

Ed was silent, his breath skimming steadily across Al's forehead.

Al pulled the blanket tighter around them, and sighed again. "Still awake?" he asked.

"Yeah," came the quiet murmur. After a moment he added, "You could get us a military car, you know."

"We'll figure something out."

* * *

There were bits of foreign metal scattered around the table Winry had set up to the side of her workbench. She had been itching for _months _to dissect that homemade arm of his, and she was alternating between being horrified and being astounded. Horrified because the strategies he used were like that of the earliest attempts at automail, the ones that were mostly unsuccessful and damaging; astounded because the thing _worked, _and better than it should have, all things considered.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, concentrating as she worked the fine tools around the wires trailing out of what was left of his mechanical arm. His eyes were squeezed shut, and she thought he might have been holding his breath, waiting for the indescribably odd sensation she was causing to stop. "Ed," she said softly, still holding a wire between her tweezers.

"Hm," he grunted, acknowledging her but not opening his eyes or moving in the slightest.

"This is no good," she said, resigned. "I can't work with any of this. I have to take it all out; start over."

"Fine," he let out under his breath. "Just get it over with already."

She had already put him through the pain of removing each bolt and screw, sliding them out of his bones with a sickening scrape that made them both grit their teeth. Her strange suspicions had been confirmed: yes, his shoulder was all bone inside. That was why the screws would often work themselves loose on their own: the bone was rejecting them slowly. That was why he was in such pain after using his arm a lot, that was why he could grasp things if he placed them between the mechanical fingers but not carry anything of significant weight: it put too much strain on his bone structure. These were clear and valid problems of the early attempts at automail, something she had only read about in medical texts.

The signs were all there, but she was still shocked to confirm it. When she and Granny had given Ed his first set of automail, the bones inside his shoulder had been replaced with automail parts. It was the only way his body would be able to support the weight and function of the new limb. She could not understand why the bones were there now.

She released the final nerve, cleaning the open wound she had made and beginning to stitch him up. She had done what she could to numb the area, and knew he hadn't been feeling pain, exactly, but he could feel her working on his nerves and he had always told her how strange that felt.

He was now breathing normally, eyes open, blank, waiting for her to finish up the stitches. When she tied off the final strand, she came to sit in front of him. "There's something else I have to tell you," she began hesitantly, and watched his murky gold eyes slowly focus on her own.

"What is it?"

"Those wires you were using," she said slowly, "the ones I said were never used in the body because they can cause unpleasant reactions, and rejection. They might have damaged your nerves."

He nodded. "You've said this before," he said calmly.

She sighed. "I wish Granny were here, she knew everything, absolutely _everything _about automail. I'm just guessing, here, Ed. It's possible the reason you could never get those fingers to move is because you damaged the nerves attaching those wires, or, it might have just been that they couldn't hold enough current to travel all the way down the arm. I don't know."

His single hand gripped his knee tightly. "I didn't know what else to _do, _Winry!" he protested. "I was all alone there, and I couldn't do _anything,_ and it was terrifying. I couldn't use any alchemy, but besides that, I couldn't even use my own body any more, not the way I wanted to." He looked over at the detached limb lying over on her table. "It might not have worked very well, but it was damn well better than nothing, which is what I started out with."

"It's really incredible," she said seriously, "That you got as far as you did with it. Everything might be fine; I might be completely overreacting, but…"

"Win," he said gently, moving his hand from his own knee to hers. "Just tell me. What is the absolute worst thing that could happen?"

Her lips formed that fine line again. "You might not get one hundred percent movement out of the new automail. You won't be in the pain you're in now," she added hurriedly, searching his face for a reaction but reading none. "You'll be able to carry things, probably even lift things you can't even pick up with your real arm. It'll be strong, but you might not have the fine control that you had before."

He leaned back on the bench, into the wall, raising his eyebrows and looking over at the arm on the table again. "Ho much movement would you say I got out of that one?"

"Twenty five percent? Thirty maybe?" she guessed.

"And the new one?" he prompted. "The worst I can expect?"

"Ninety five? Ninety eight?"

He gave a low laugh, and folded his hand behind his head. "I think I can handle that," he said, smiling. _Smiling? How can he be smiling about this?_

"But I wanted it to be perfect for you!" she protested, obviously distressed. "I've been studying all this time, learning every new technique as soon as it's developed, just so I could make you the most perfect automail available!"

He gave an odd one shouldered shrug, and smiled again. "Win, I've been without automail for so long, I guarantee you, I will not even notice a few percents less movement than the last set. I'll just be happy to have something that works, and someone who knows how to take care of it." He stood up, gathering up his shirt as he did and pulling the right sleeve inside out before he put it on so that it would not hang in his way. "Come on, Al is watching Kaiya and making dinner at the same time, lets help him out a bit, huh?"

She let herself laugh as she hung up her tools on the proper pegs. "That's Ed-speak for me helping with dinner and you playing with your daughter," she said, smiling down at her wrench.

"Our daughter," he called from his way up the stairs. "All three of ours."

* * *

He gripped the gravestone with his only hand, steadying himself as he sank to his knees on the frozen ground. _Its me, Momma, its Edward, _he began, haltingly, staring at the dirt and grass at the base of the slab. _I'm sorry, I didn't bring you anything, except- Al's here, and he's whole, and he's perfect, and I'm here too, so I can take care of him now, just like you said. Except, Momma, it's really Al that takes care of me, but, at least we're together now._

_I wish- I wish I could tell you something that would make you proud of me, and… I've done my best, but all I've managed to do is screw things up, again and again. I wish I could tell you I'm not the obnoxious know-it-all kid I was when I was ten, but- that's not really something I can say either. But I promise you, I know I'm not God, and I've learned my lesson: I promise you I'll never endanger myself or my brother's life ever again, not for something impossible._

_I wish I could say all the pain I've caused everyone around me hadn't been in your name, in your memory, but I cant say that either. I'm sorry, Momma. I'm sorry, it's been- so many years, I'm starting to forget your face. We burned the house down, to keep us from running home instead of chasing our goals, and all the pictures burned too. Auntie Pinako had a few, I think, but it's been ten years even since I've seen those. What I remember mostly are your eyes. Al has your eyes, and sometimes when I look at him I see you._

Rizembool was quiet, utterly quiet, Al had been right when he said there was no one there. The only sound was the wind blowing tiny specks of snow around, not enough to stick but enough to cloud the air and to chill the tips of his nose and ears. _Dad loved you, _he admitted, with some difficulty. _I never believed it, but I know you did. You never doubted him. He- he's gone now too. _

_You- you have a granddaughter now. Her name is Kaiya. She's perfect, she's the most perfect baby you've ever laid eyes on. She's Winry's, and she's beautiful. Me and Al used to fight over who would marry Winry, but in the end, I guess neither of us won. She's Winry's daughter, _he repeated. _Maybe you can be proud of us for that. _

He shifted uncomfortably on the cold ground, and when he blinked he saw the salty drops fall onto the frozen dirt. He raised his hand to his face, not even having realized he was crying. _I do remember you, Momma, there are things I'll never forget; I'll never forget how your arms felt around me, I'll never forget how my head fit perfectly into the curve of your waist. I'll never forget your voice and I'll never forget the words to that song you would sing while doing the dishes. I'll never forget the way mine and Al's beds smelled the days you would wash the sheets, I'll never forget the taste of the porridge you would make us for breakfast. I'll never forget playing out in the fields and seeing your light flashing for us to come home, I'll never forget seeing the house lit at night with a candle in each window to guide us home. I'll never forget that yellow apron with the little flowers I used to bury my face in and cry when I would scrape my knee-_

* * *

He didn't know how long he sat, his head leaning against the stone, or where Al had been, whether he had stood and watched his brother cry or whether he had gone to sit by the river, in the spot he always used to when they had been kids. If there had been anyone at all in Rizembool besides the brothers, there would have been stories about the ghost of the Fullmetal Alchemist hovering over the graveyard, but there was only Al.

The brothers walked silently over the debris that still remained of their burned down house, keeping step with each other and not speaking until Al said, "Do you want to see yours?"

"Mine?" Edward had echoed hollowly, not quite trusting his voice yet.

Someone, they saw, had been to that grave already, and had left a wreath of flowers, and Ed shuddered, kicking at the wreath with his foot. Did people really come all the way out to Rizembool to leave flowers on his grave? Who were these people, and just what did they think he had done to deserve their attentions? He, the sinner?

"Lets get out of here, Al," he said, shoving his hand further into his coat pocket, suddenly colder than he had been.

"I want to stop at the house."

Ed turned to look behind them at the ruins that had been the Elric house, but Al shook his head and pointed to the building in the distance. "No, at Winry's house. I want to see if there's something there she might want."

"The house is still there?" Ed asked, confused. "Then why-"

"It's there," Al said tersely. "The Drachman army used it as their headquarters when they occupied the town."

Ed had elected to wait outside while Al entered the abandoned building they had once called their home, understanding, suddenly, why Winry had refused to come with them. His memories of the Rockbell house were bright and full of warmth, and he found he didn't want them replaced with empty rooms and dusty shelves.

After some time had passed, Al emerged, carrying two boxes, trailing cobwebs that he swiped at before handing one to his older brother. "What-" Ed began.

"They're photos, from the basement," Al said. "I thought they might still be there."

The brothers were silent for the first two hours of the drive back to Altenburg, Al keeping his eyes fixed on the road and his attention carefully on what was in front of him. Ed's eyes were closed and he leaned his head against the window, but Al knew he wasn't sleeping.

Finally, breaking the silence, Al let out a heavy sigh as a preamble. His brother's eyes fluttered open. "I didn't tell you this before," he began, his words uncertain. "But I just want you to know, because I know she didn't tell you."

Golden eyebrows rose, once, curiously.

"Winry isn't my girlfriend anymore."

"Al, I'm sorry-"

"Don't be sorry. It's not your fault. And it's better this way. It's fine," Al said firmly.

"Al-"

"I said don't be sorry!"

Ed clamped his mouth shut.

Nearly another hour had passed before they spoke again. It was dusk, and the sky was a glowing deep blue above their heads, a road sign here and there illuminated by a streetlamp. "It's just five days until she starts the surgeries," Ed said quietly, staring at the trees flying past them.

"Are you scared?" Al asked softly.

"A little," Ed admitted.

"You'll be all right, Brother," he encouraged. "You've done it before, you know what to expect."

"That was a long time ago."

"Let me be there with you," Al said suddenly. "Don't send me out of the room, let me be there through it all."

Ed sighed. "I don't want you to have to see me like that, Al, I'll be screaming my head off in pain."

"Winry told me you never screamed."

"I can't promise you that this time," Ed said quietly. He looked out at the road, and then over at his brother, and then back out at the line of trees that blurred into a stripe of brown and black if he let his eyes relax.

When Al began to speak again, his voice had an odd quality to it, one Ed couldn't quite place.

"You always told me that you were fine, that you weren't hurting, but I knew you were lying to me because when Winry would come in to check on you you would whisper to her that you needed more pills."

Ed's eyes widened, and he jerked his gaze over to his brother, who sat gripping the steering wheel, gaze fixed on the road.

"You had these terrible nightmares, I knew you did because I watched you sleep, all those long nights, it must have been the medicine that was giving you those dreams and you would never tell me about them. You wanted to spare me from them but you didn't know that I had them too, and I had them while I was awake, because I couldn't sleep."

Ed was staring at him, watching his eyes dart from side to side, the course of their vehicle no longer part of his attention.

"You would call for me, and you would call for mom, and sometimes you would even call for dad, and when you were like that there was nothing I could do. I would touch you, but I couldn't feel it, and you didn't even know it was me. You would look at me and you didn't know it was me."

"Al, the _road,_" Ed said harshly, and reached out and grabbed the steering wheel, sending their car swinging back to the center of the road. They had been driving half on the shoulder and half on the grass for quite some time before even Ed had noticed it. "_Al!_" Ed pressed, refusing to let go of the steering wheel, staring into his brother's vacant eyes. "Al, snap out of it!"

Alphonse blinked, slamming his foot on the breaks and causing their vehicle to screech to a halt. "What happened?" he demanded, blinking rapidly. "Did I fall asleep? I didn't think I was that tired-"

Ed was opening the car door, walking around the vehicle, opening Al's door. "Okay, Al, get out, I'm driving the rest of the way!" he said forcefully, waiting for his brother to obey him.

"You can't drive, you have only one hand!" Al protested, but Ed's insistence was unwavering.

"I can do lots of things with only one hand! You almost ran us off the road, get out!"

"I'm awake now, Brother, I can drive fine-"

"Al, you weren't sleeping- do you even remember what you were saying?" Ed demanded, the realization dawning on him.

"What are you talking about?" Al said, confused.

"You were telling me things only you would know. Things no one could have told you. Things I didn't even know," he said quietly, his voice grave.

"What do you mean?"

"Things from when you were in the armor."

"That's impossible," Al said flatly, folding his arms across his chest and looking up at his brother.

"It should be," Ed agreed. "But you did it. Now out, and let me drive, I want to get back to Altenburg before midnight."

His eyes narrowed. "Brother, I'm not letting you drive," he said stubbornly

"I'm not letting _you _drive," Ed countered, equally stubborn.

"Fine."

"Fine."

"So we're spending the night somewhere nearby."

"Fine, that's what we're doing."

"Fine."

"Fine." Al drove cautiously into the small town they were passing by, feeling his brother's eyes on his face the entire way. Once they had found themselves a room, Ed had pressed him with questions about his memory, but Al was unable to tell him anything new. _This was a bad idea, coming here,_ he thought to himself. _Brother's miserable, I'm miserable, and now Brother thinks I'm crazy, to top it all off. Could I really have done that, spoken to him about things I don't even remember, and not have realized it?_

_He thinks my memories are his fault, that he's hurt me in some way! He saved my life, if he hadn't kept my soul in that armor I would be dead right now, instead of here, alive, warm and beside him, with a life and a family and nothing more I could ask for. Brother doesn't deserve any more guilt or any more pain. I wish I could tell him nothing will ever hurt him again, but I can't say that. He's going to be going through the worst pain he's ever felt, pain he thought he'd never have to go through again, just to get his automail installed. _"Brother," he said quietly, interrupting Ed's worried rantings. "It's all right." _It wasn't all right. It wasn't all right that he had lost four years of memories, but he was used to it. _"Don't do this to yourself. I'm fine."

By the next morning every citizen in the town of Bethan was full to the brim with the gossip that the Fullmetal Alchemist and the Soul Alchemist had spent the night in their most prominent (and only) inn. If anyone else, any out-of-towners, were to inquire, however, they would say he must have been a ghost. The people of Bethan were proud to say that the People's Alchemist had come from the North, and they would not give away his secret that easily.

* * *

"Of course I'm nervous," Ed said, not looking at her as she stitched up the wound she had made in the end of his leg. He shuddered.

"What's wrong?" she said sharply, looking up. "Did I hurt you?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. "No, it just feels fucking strange, like you're tickling my _toes_ or something." In fact, she had attached tiny metal transmitters to a few select nerves in his stump. That little preparatory step, she had insisted, would help a great deal during the surgery. She had done the same the day before with his shoulder.

She blinked. "Oh," she said. "Good. That means I'm doing this right."

His eyes widened in a sudden panic. "You don't _know_ if you're doing it right? Winry! I thought you said you knew what you were doing!"

She laughed at his horrified expression. "I'm just kidding Ed, god. Of course I know what I'm doing. This is my entire life, you know." She tied off the last stitch, swabbing the stump one more time with disinfectant. "Done," she added unnecessarily.

Ed leaned back against the wall, looking half-relaxed sitting there in his boxers, but his tapping fingers betrayed his discomfort. "Al is really upset that he can't get back until tomorrow. I know he wanted to be here with me tonight."

"I know you wanted him to be here too," Winry said gently, cleaning off her instruments. "General Mustang is such an ass, he _told _Al it would be no problem for him to go on leave, and then springs this last minute stuff on him."

"I keep telling myself that the first surgery was so long ago I couldn't possibly remember it that well," Ed began, not looking at her, "But I do, I swear I do. And it hurt more than losing my limbs in the first place did."

Winry glanced up at him, surprised. She had never, that she recalled, heard Ed say anything about how much it had hurt. She knew, of course, that it did, but Ed had also been the only patient of Pinako's that had not cried out during the painful nerve attachments. She waited, but it didn't seem like he was going to continue, so she said, "Don't worry, Al will be here tomorrow morning, and he'll be here to stay with you until you're all recovered."

"You think I can really do it in a year, Win?" he asked, his fingers still tapping on the bench. "I mean, I'm not a kid any more, I'm not growing, so you think my body will still heal as fast?"

"I don't know, Ed," she said honestly. "Wait," she said, stopping him when he reached for his prosthetic leg. "You can't put that on, you'll irritate the stitches, what are you thinking?" She got up, jerking open her supply closet, pulling out a crutch.

"I guess I'm not thinking," he admitted, taking it from her, pulling himself up with it in a practiced motion and tucking it under his arm.

"You should go to bed, Ed," she instructed him. "Get as much rest as you can tonight."

"I don't think I can sleep," he said admitted, shifting his weight on the crutch. "I thought Al was going to be here tonight. I'm too on edge," he said, his eyes darting side to side. He lowered his voice, his cheeks turning faintly pink at his next admission. "Sometimes Al can get me to sleep, he kind of pets my hair, like mom used to do, but Al's in Central, or on his way from Central, anyway."

It seemed like it had been ages since he had been open with her, in any way. In fact, the times when she worked with his nerves, getting ready for the surgery, were the only times they had been close to each other, the only times they had spoken about anything other than _where is the baby? Can you watch the baby? Would you feed the baby? If I change the baby will you put her to bed? _ Here they were, in the same house, yet when Al wasn't home they moved in circles one around the other, like magnets that pushed each other away. Winry let out a slow breath. "Well, I'm not Al, but maybe I can help you sleep," she offered, but he shook his head.

"It's not the same," he told her.

He hobbled across the workroom on the crutch and stared up at the flight of stairs that led up into the house.

"Do you want some help?" She asked hesitantly.

Ed considered her offer, looking steadily from her form to the stairs and back, and shrugged one shoulder. "Yeah, I'll take some help," he said.

* * *

It was different, trying to help him, because he was taller than her now, if only by an inch or so. He was taller, he weighed more, and there was no way to help him other than to wrap and arm around his waist and offer him balance as he hopped awkwardly up the stairs. She had helped him when they were kids, when she had been the bigger one, when she had been in charge, when she had envisioned herself his doctor, when she had taken it upon herself to put her friend back together as best as biomechanics would allow, but now she really was in charge. There was no one for her to turn to if she did not know what to do. When she was eleven she had believed she could do no wrong, that there was no automail problem she could not solve, that Edward was in the best hands available. Now she felt almost afraid to touch him.

"Aw, man, I am a mess," Ed said, but he was laughing as she deposited him on her bed, seeming not to notice her discomfort. "Why'd you bring me in here anyway," he demanded, noticing that he was in her room and not Al's.

"Well," she began, still hesitant. "I'm not your brother, but I am your friend. I thought you wouldn't want to be alone quite yet."

His pride made him want to protest, that he didn't need her to watch over him, to soothe him into sleep, that she would be doing plenty of that soon enough and even that was too much to ask from her, but he swallowed it, seeing how she hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt her feelings by turning her away, like he knew he had done so many times before. If she wanted to be there for him, he would let her. She was his best friend, after all. "Okay," he agreed, quietly, not meeting her eyes.

She wanted to sit behind him, to wrap her arms around him, to press her chin into his shoulder and her cheek against his own, but was that the act of a friend, or a lover? What did she know?

_What did any of them know?_

She shifted on the bed, drawing her feet up under her knees and turning to sit behind him, skimming her fingers lightly down his shoulder blades and digging them into his lower back, which she knew must be perpetually sore from walking with one strong leg and one false one. "Ah," he said, giving in, voicing his approval. "You're good at that," he told her.

"I try," she said softly, moving her hands slowly up his back as she felt him beginning to relax.

"Mmm," he said. "You smell good."

"Eh?" she said, confused. "I do?" Winry was certain she smelled of nothing but sweat and machine oil, the way she always smelled after working in the shop. Not a particularly attractive or feminine smell, she was sure, but she had never known Ed to give a false compliment.

"Yeah. I missed your smell," he said, and her eyes flew open, her hands stopping their massaging circles. "Hey, don't stop!" he protested, and she made herself continue.

"Ed, you should lay down," she instructed. "You're supposed to by trying to sleep, and you don't sleep sitting up."

"Lay down with me," he said, tugging at her hand as he shifted into a lying position.

She cooperated, her heart pounding, and pulled the blankets up around them, lying back on the pillow next to his. He was still holding her hand, she realized, and he was staring at it, rubbing his thumb over her veins.

"I love your hands, Win," he said quietly, seemingly transfixed.

"Thanks," she said, unsure of how to respond. After a moment she pulled her hand away, turning on her stomach and propping her chin on her hands, looking down at him. His eyes were closed and there were faint creases between his eyebrows. "Are you nervous?" she asked.

He shrugged with one shoulder, not opening his eyes. "I guess," he admitted. "Shouldn't I be?"

"Well, you know what to expect, so yes, you should be," she said bluntly.

He cracked one eye open, the corner of his mouth jerking up in a wry grin. "Aw, thanks, that really makes me feel better," he said sarcastically, but he reached over for her hand again, wrapping his fingers tightly around her own.

"What?" she asked, raising one eyebrow, pulling her hand away slightly.

"Eh?"

"What do you want with my hand all of a sudden?" she asked him, and watched his cheeks turn faintly pink. _I've slept with this man,_ her mind told her suddenly. _And now he's embarrassed by holding my hand? _

He dropped it instantly. "Sorry," he said quickly, but she could already feel her own face flushing crimson. It had been a year ago, about, at least a year ago that she had collided with a dead man on her way to the market to pick up a half dozen eggs. A year ago that they had yelled and she had cried and they hugged and comforted and argued and ended up here in her bed. Her heart sank into the pit of her stomach. He wished it had never happened. That's what he told her. "Win, what's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

Round eyes blinked at him. "Nothing," she said miserably.

He turned his head, looking out her window at the deep blue of twilight. "It's been a little while since I've been in here," he said with a faint smile _don't even say it Ed, _she thought darkly, glaring at him as he gazed at the sky, unaware. _Whatever it is you might be about to say, I don't even want to know what it is. Just don't say anything._

But he didn't, she realized, and he wasn't going to. She let her head drop onto the pillow, closing her own eyes and trying hard not to think anything at all.

After a while she became aware of his fingers pulling through her hair, just like what he said Al would do for him, stroking the long strands slowly and gently. She opened her eyes to find that he was watching her, his expression carefully blank, his golden eyes blinking every few seconds, their dark gold lashes brushing together ever so briefly.

She was determined to do nothing.

She did nothing when he pressed his warm lips to her forehead, and she did nothing when he pulled back, watching her carefully. "Ed." She let his name hang between them for a moment. "What are you doing?"

Another beat passed before he answered. "I'm not sure," he whispered. The silence between them was becoming oppressive, and suddenly she wanted to sit up, to jump out of bed, to say something bright and cheerful and switch on the light on the night table to illuminate the darkening room. He couldn't possibly be looking at her the way he seemed to be, his eyes burning into her just like they had that night that other time, he couldn't possibly be wanting what he swore he didn't and she couldn't possibly be even considering- "Sorry," he said quietly. "I don't know what I'm doing. I just wanted to touch you."

"Why?"

He looked down at his lap. "I'm sorry."

She put one hand on either side of his face, feeling the rough texture of his cheeks on her palms, and he lifted his eyes and let her meet his lips with her own. "Edward," she whispered, her face only inches from his, "tell me you want to do this." _Don't answer me Ed, I don't even want to know your answer. _

"We can't-" he began, shaking his head.

She pressed a finger to his lips. "We'll never tell him," she said of Al in a rush of words, things she never meant to say tumbling from her lips. "He'll never know. He'll never ask, and we'll never tell."

"Is this what you want?" he asked hesitantly.

Her deep eyes widened. She nodded _I'm not going to get an answer I'm never going to get an answer why are we even doing this I swore he swore we swore this would never happen and-_

Ed shook his head. "I can't- We can't, Winry. We shouldn't."

_I know we shouldn't and you know we shouldn't and I'm never going to know if it's something you want or not because I don't want you to answer me not really _"He said it was all right," she insisted quietly. "He said he doesn't want to tie me down."

"And I said we would never do this," he reminded her, pushing her hands away.

"Did you promise?" she whispered.

Wordlessly, he shook his head again. "But," he began, looking down at himself, gesturing to the stub of his leg, his missing arm. "Like this?"

"Edward, I don't care," she assured him, grasping for something familiar. She was used to reassuring him that things were going to be okay. She was used to offering him her comfort. "I don't care how many parts you have or don't have. You're you, regardless."

That wasn't really what he meant, he had been referring purely to the physical maneuverability of it, but her words sent a rush of memory over him.

"_Alphonse, how can you possibly-" his words caught in his throat, and he looked down at himself in disgust. "I'm half a person!" he protested._

_Alphonse had taken him by the shoulders, holding good and scarred skin alike, and ducked his head down, looking into his friend's eyes. "No, Ed," he said gently, nervously, not wanting to say the wrong thing. "No." He let himself stare, unrestrained, at the un-naturalness of it all, the sheer imbalance of his form, and at the same time, the beauty in it. "Maybe half a body," he admitted, honest as always, "but you're a whole person."_

_Edward had looked at him witheringly, searching for pity in his open face but finding none. _

_Alphonse reached for his single hand, pressing it between his own, twining their fingers together. "You're a whole person," he repeated, "and I think you're fine the way you are."_

_Edward leaned forward, pressing his face to the younger boy's chest, not knowing whether to laugh at the absurd assurance or to cry at the truth of it but suddenly unable to look him in the eye._

"Edward?" Winry said gently, calling him back, moving back into his field of vision. He had turned away, and she had followed his eyes, not letting him escape her. "You don't believe me?"

He shook his head, pressing his lips together. "No, I believe you," he said quietly, with a heavy sigh, falling back onto the bed and bringing his only arm up to cover his eyes. "I can't do this, Win. It isn't right." He slid his arm up a bit so he could read her expression.

She didn't understand. He hadn't said enough.

"It wouldn't be you," he told the ceiling. "It would be him."

Slowly, she reached over him, wrapping her hand around his, pulling his arm off his face so she could see his eyes. _But he's gone,_ she wanted to say. _You'll never see him again. We're both free,_ she wanted to tell him, but he was no freer than she was, and she had known that all along. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I won't ask you again." She pulled him back up to a sitting position and wrapped both her arms around him, letting him bury his face in her long hair.

"I love you," he whispered, and for a brief moment, her heart soared.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like that, entwined like lovers. He wasn't thinking, not really, just watching the shadows move across the room with the shifting moonlight and listening to her quiet breathing as she lay next to him. He shivered slightly, suddenly missing the warmth of her body, and wondered when they had separated. Was she sleeping?

He reached over, sliding his arm under her, trying to pull her closer to him, and she smiled, eyes still closed, and rolled over, resting her head on his shoulder and throwing one leg across his hips. Hesitantly, he rested his hand on the small of her back, and felt the rise and fall of her breathing against his torso. He was not thinking any thoughts about love, about different kinds of love, about how many people a person can love in a lifetime. He wasn't thinking about death, and separation, and which is harder for the heart to understand. He wasn't thinking about existence, and what parts of himself he may have inadvertently left behind on the other side of the Gate.

When he felt rough, gentle fingers sliding over his cheek, his jaw, trailing down the side of his neck and stroking the place below his ear, he did not think anything at first. _She must be asleep, _came the slow realization. _We've both been asleep. _A light kiss fell on the side of his face, and he turned away, not even knowing why. _God, does she think I'm A?_ he wondered, knowing he should push her away but instead pretending to sleep himself, enjoying her touch as much as dreading it. Her hand slid over his throat, moving across his chest, brushing a nipple and he stiffened, unmoving. He let out a heavy breath, realizing _this was a bad idea _as his sleep-muddled body began to catch up to the sensations it was registering. Her lips fell on the hollow at his neck, following his collarbone, and a calloused palm pressed up his side, fingers pushing into his ribs. He jerked when she touched the shiny, strange skin that had been underneath steel for so many years at a time, grasping at where a right arm should have been, clutching at the scarred stump.

Her eyes opened, and he could feel her sharp intake of breath as she stiffened against him, lifting her head. _Now she wakes, _he thought, still in a half-daze himself, looking blearily into her round open eyes, dark in the shadowed room. Her lips were parted, and she pressed her teeth into the lower one, pulling away from him slightly, seeming to expect him to do something. "That feels kind of weird," he whispered in the dark, moving his had to cover hers, drawing it away from his empty shoulder.

"Sorry," she whispered, not breaking eye contact. "I think… I must have been asleep."

He took a deep breath, slowly bringing her hand to his lips, pressing it into them. "You could touch me somewhere else," he suggested finally, almost disbelieving his own words. He wanted this, or at least part of him wanted this. Al had forgiven them, and Al was not there, and would never know. And Germany was worlds away.

She pulled her hand away, moving back to the empty side of the bed and pressing her face into the pillow. He sat up then, watching her, not sure what to do next. Her shoulders were shaking, he saw. Was she crying, or was she angry? "Win…" he said softly.

"What are you trying to do to me, Edward?" she demanded into the pillow, not looking at him.

His eyes widened. "Do to you? You started this! What are you trying to do to me?"

"I was _asleep!"_ she wailed, sitting up, facing him, and throwing the blankets into his lap in a half-formed bundle. "Make up your _mind_!" she said desperately. "Who do you love?"

"You," he said simply, and that was his answer, at least right then, even if it was not a complete one. He pushed the heap of bedding off of him, letting it rest in a pile between them.

"Then you need to decide how, and just how much," she insisted, her tone not accusing at all, more sad than anything else. "As much as I want to, I'm not going to do this with you if you're going to wake up tomorrow telling me you regret it. I can't do that again!"

He turned away from her, swinging his leg over the side of the bed. "I'm going back to Al's room," he said stiffly, eyes casting about for a moment for his prosthesis before remembering that the limb was downstairs in the workshop and there were stitches in his leg. He stood up slowly, not looking back at her and using the nightstand for balance as he hopped awkwardly across the room to retrieve the crutch he had dropped earlier in the day.

Out in the hallway, he leaned against the railing, looking down into the house that was not his house, feeling that this life was not his life; that nothing could be real anymore. Edward Elric was in pieces, and his soul was stretched thin as his heart trying to collect them all again. Yes, he was standing in the hall on one leg while the other was two floors down in the workshop, and yes, his right arm was disassembled somewhere in Winry's closet, but these things could be remedied. His body could be whole again, if not completely flesh, and soon enough he would have four working limbs after more than a decade without them, something that was possible only in this world he had been born in.

But love and guilt, he was afraid, would never be one without the other. He imagined Alphonse, his lover, alone and abandoned in Germany, and knew a piece of himself would always be there with him, as much as he professed to hate that devastated world. He had known they could not always be together, and had always turned the conversation away when Alphonse tried to speak of the vast forever that was the rest of their lives. He had known that eventually he would leave, and he had done exactly what he had sworn not to do, and gotten involved. Even now, after all this time, he couldn't sort out for himself exactly why he had stayed with the younger man, if it was because he loved him in his own right or because he felt useless on his own, away from his brother, and Alphonse had been a ready substitute.

It was as impossible to return to the Alphonse in Germany as it was to return to the Al in his memory, Al the child, the innocent. They had both been innocent.

Now he was afraid he would never be a whole person again.


	9. Chapter Six: Without a Hand to Guide Us

**Chapter Six**: Without a Hand to Guide Us

Al felt as if his bones were going to crack, but he grit his teeth and said nothing, letting his brother grip his hand tightly, watching as he squeezed his eyes shut, gasping raggedly. In the corner of his vision he saw Winry jumping up to adjust the IV she had running antibiotics and painkillers directly into his bloodstream. His eyes did not move from his brother's face as he watched her lay a hand across his forehead, swiping his damp bangs off of his face. "That should help a bit," she said, her voice comforting, reassuring, and Ed nodded, his eyes still tightly shut, but loosened his grip on Al's hand just slightly. "I'm not doing any more today, I can't stress his nervous system any more than I already have," she told Al quietly. "In a few more days he'll be ready for another round." She leaned her face down, close to Ed's ear. Although his eyes were shut she knew he was still conscious. "I just upped your morphine," she said to him. "You should stop feeling so much pain within a few minutes. If it's not enough, promise you'll say something."

He nodded, once. She could tell he was feeling the effects already; his hand went limp in Al's and his eyelids fluttered, opening in dull gold slits as his facial features relaxed a bit.

Winry looked down at her hands. Her fingers were stained rust colored with blood; she could see it in the creases of her fingernails. She didn't need to look further to know that there was blood splattered across the front of her surgical smock as well. "I'm going to clean up," she said to Al, leaving the surgery room that was adjacent to her workshop.

She scrubbed at her hands at the sink, and looked at her reflection in the cloudy mirror. Her hair was covered in a bandana and her surgical mask was still around her neck from where she had pulled it down after she finished for the day. Her skin was pale and her eyes looked sunken, with dark circles under them. _Why do I look so terrible? _she thought briefly. _I'm not the one who just endured massive trauma to my nervous system. I'm just the one who inflicted it. _ She felt herself shudder, and her stomach lurched uncontrollably now that the surgery was over. Machines were so clean, so precise, so predictable, and the human body was so volatile, with different surprises and different problems. It was a different kind of machine, she supposed, and she told herself time and again that she could handle it, she could handle the blood and the frayed muscles and the cut off bones, the unnatural way the body healed off the stumps of missing limbs. It was part of what she did, it was part of her life, and she was strong and she could handle a little bit of gore as long as it meant she was helping someone. _Not everyone is cut out for this, _her grandmother had warned her. But her parents were. Her parents were doctors, her parents had seen these things every day, these things and worse, things even worse than seeing a metal suit of armor speaking with her best friend's voice, carrying her other best friend in its arms, bloodied and mutilated and dying-

Strong arms wrapped around her waist, familiar hands clasped around her middle. "Go upstairs and rest," he told her softly. "I'll stay in here with him."

"I don't need to rest," she said, with no force in her voice. "I need to stay in here with him, make sure he doesn't develop a fever."

"I'll come get you if anything changes."

She shook her head, pulling away from him and returning to the surgery room. She could hear his footsteps behind her. She re-checked the IV, re-straightened the sheets on the bed, and pulled the second chair over and sat down. "I'm just going to stay here," she said, the sound of her words becoming lost in the roaring in her ears. "I'm fine," she thought she said, but the next moment her stomach was dropping out from under her and Alphonse caught her before she slid to the floor.

"You're exhausted," he said firmly. "We've been in here for twelve hours." He had pressed a cold glass of water into her hands, and she sipped it gratefully. "Give yourself a break."

"Al-" came Ed's hoarse voice, and Al was at his side in an instant.

"Brother?" he inquired softly.

"'M thirsty," his brother whispered, his words slurred and slow from the medication. Al put a hand on his forehead, more for comfort than to check for a fever, and slipped a chip of ice between his brother's lips.

"Better?" he asked.

Ed nodded.

"Do you want another?"

He nodded again. "Win?" he asked, his voice cracking.

She jumped out of the chair and was at his side in an instant.

"Go rest," he instructed, before Al slipped him another bit of ice.

In the end it was Al who stayed up through the night, watching over both of them. Winry dozed kneeling on the floor by the bed, her head resting on the edge and her hand on Ed's good shoulder. His brother slept fitfully, waking every half hour or so and speaking very little, but Al knew his dreams must have been tormenting him, because he would cry his brother's name or call for his mother, and in the dark Al could see a different scene in front of him, superimposed over this reality; one where his own soul hovered over the bed, watching his brother, tied to this world only by an intricate array drawn in blood on a suit of armor, wanting to offer comfort but unable to feel any contact and fearing that his insensitive leather gauntlets would hurt rather than help the small form in the bed. He reached out his human hand, wrapping his fingers around his brother's palm, and felt a delayed squeeze. Ed was not asleep. Al hadn't thought he was. He stroked his thumb soothingly across the back of his brother's hand, his only hand, and hoped that his presence was enough.

* * *

Al's bed had become Ed's bed, after Winry was through with the surgeries and had finished installing the automail ports. He wasn't allowed to get up until his body had fully healed around them, which he had known from the beginning, but that didn't make him any less restless. He could only read every book in the house so many times, he could only demand descriptions of his brother's military missions until he knew Al's life almost as well as if he had actually been there with him, and it didn't help that his energy level was so low that even if he had been allowed to get up, he would have been tired out as soon as he was out of bed. The days began to run together in a haze of painkillers and feverish dreams interspersed with hours of waking boredom and quiet conversations.

He was sitting, propped up on several pillows, staring at the book in his lap but not reading it when his brother interrupted his listless state.

"Brother?" he questioned hesitantly. "Don't be mad, but-"

"Why would I be mad?" he interrupted, frowning. Not that he hadn't been irritable with both Al and Winry, constantly, snapping at them for stupid things and causing them to tiptoe around him even more than usual. Not that he wasn't a real treat to take care of, he was certain of that. Best patient in the world, he was.

"You've got a visitor."

Ed snapped the book shut with his one hand. "Al," he groaned, "I feel like shit, I don't want to see anyone right now."

"But today is-"

"I don't _care," _he said, knowing his voice sounded harsh and immediately regretting it when he saw his brother's hurt expression. "Sorry, Al," he said, forcing his voice back to something more neutral. "I'm not exactly in the best mood right now-"

"I noticed," Al said dryly, leaning against the doorframe. Then he shrugged. "But we love you anyway, and that's why we put up with you."

"Thanks," Ed muttered sarcastically. "So why the hell would you want me to inflict my foul mood on anyone else?"

Al raised his eyebrows. "Actually, I told him not to come, but he insisted. I'm sure he knows you're not exactly a ray of sunshine right now."

His brother just glared at him.

"Please don't tell me he came all the way from Central and you don't even want to talk to him," Al insisted, letting his eyes widen in a way he knew his brother couldn't say no to.

Ed leaned his head back on the pillows, turning his glare to the ceiling. "Ugh, not that bastard!" he protested. "I don't want to see him, and I don't want him to see me like this!"

"Why not?" Al asked innocently. "I thought you were friends." His brother's expression did not lighten, and Al changed his tone. "Brother," he said quietly. "If you really don't want to see him-"

Ed gave a heavy sigh. "_Fine, _Al," he grated out. He looked as if he was going to add something else, but he remained silent.

Within a few minutes General Mustang strode into the room, pulling a chair up next to the bed and sitting down. "Hello, Edward," he said, fairly pleasant, but not without his characteristic smugness. "How are you feeling?"

"About as good as I look," he said sullenly, looking down at his single leg stretched out under the blankets.

Roy handed him a package, wrapped in plain brown paper and tied with a string. "Happy birthday," he said simply, and Ed took it from him, forcing half a smile onto his tired face.

"Thanks." He pulled at the string, thankful that it was just a simple bow that he could untie easily with his one hand, and slid his finger under the paper to rip it off. However, the paper was thick and wrapped in several layers, and Ed ended up sighing and handing it back to him. "Do you mind?" he asked crossly.

Roy did not apologize; just finished unwrapping the package and set its contents, a pile of books, on the bed next to him. He watched as Ed picked up the first one.

"Huh," he said, still listless. "An alchemy book," he observed, setting it aside.

"It's new, its from-" Roy began, but Ed had already picked up the second one, and his expression brightened.

"Hey, thanks!" he said, his voice genuine this time.

Roy blinked in surprise. "You know, I didn't really believe Alphonse when he said you liked those," he began, and Ed looked at him quizzically. "They're kids books," he said. "And besides, I never figured you for fantasy."

Ed just shrugged one shoulder, already turning the book over to read the back. "People change, you know," he said distantly. "Besides, when I was a kid, I was reading stuff grown people have trouble understanding. I didn't have time for anything like this." He picked up the last book and his eyes widened. "What's _this?" _he demanded, holding it up between two fingers, as if he didn't want to touch it.

Roy gave a light laugh at his reaction. "I've read it, it's wildly entertaining and horribly inaccurate. I thought it would amuse you."

"The Life and Times of the Fullmetal Alchemist: Edward Elric, Alchemist for the People?" he read, his expression incredulous. He flipped it open. "By anonymous? What the hell? What did the guy write that makes him not want to give his name? Is he afraid I'll come after him once I read this?" He opened the book to a spot near the middle, and read a few lines to himself, and actually laughed.

Roy smiled. "It's very entertaining, believe me."

"Thanks, Roy," he said again, and they lapsed into an easy silence.

"So," Roy began, after several minutes had passed. Ed arched an eyebrow. "Remind me how old you are?"

"I'm twenty-seven," he answered evenly.

"You don't look twenty-seven," Roy observed, immediately wanting to take the statement back. He didn't come here to torment Ed while he was sick, but it seemed automatic, of course he should tease him about his appearance. To his surprise, Ed just shrugged again.

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" he asked. "I'm not supposed to be this old anyway."

"Twenty-seven is hardly old," Roy assured him, feeling relieved.

Ed narrowed his eyes, looking cockily back at him. "Aren't you going to be forty soon?" he asked devilishly, with a trace of spark in his eye.

"No," Roy snapped, but he let Ed laugh at him anyway.

They both turned to the door when they heard Al and Winry's hushed voices in the hall, and Ed groaned and rolled his eyes when they began to sing. "Guys," he tried to protest, but Roy joined in as well, and despite his objections a large cake was soon placed in front of him with twenty-seven lit candles. He did not blow them out right away, trying to continue to look annoyed, and Al, who had been carrying Kaiya, sat her down on the bed next to Ed. "Help him with the candles, Kaiya," he instructed her, but she just waved her hands in delight at the little flames. Finally Ed allowed himself to grin, and took a deep breath, blowing out all the candles.

Winry leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, whispering, "happy birthday," to him, and Al picked up Kaiya and sat down on the bed next to his brother, sitting her in his lap. Ed leaned over and awkwardly hugged him with one arm. Winry clasped her hands together. "Don't you look cute, the three of you like that," she exclaimed. "Stay like that, I want a picture."

Ed rolled his eyes. "Don't take a picture," he protested. "Just cut the cake, it looks really good. You didn't make it, did you?"

"Al made it," Winry confirmed.

"Ah, good," Ed said, earning himself a smack on the back of his head. "Hey, be nice to me, it's my birthday!"

After the cake had been eaten and Roy had left on the last train to Central and Winry was putting Kaiya to bed, Al remained next to his brother in his bed. Ed leaned his head on his younger brother's shoulder and sighed.

"Do you feel old?" he inquired.

"Nah," Ed said contentedly. "I feel happy."

"You do?" Al asked, surprised.

"Yeah. I mean, other than the fact that I can't really get up, that is," he amended. "Sorry, Al, I know I'm a bad patient."

Al spread his hands. "Hey, don't apologize to me, Brother, say you're sorry to Winry. You're her patient."

Ed just leaned further into his brother, feeling the warmth of his body on the side of his face. His body ached dully where the ports had been screwed into his bones, but it was a familiar ache, and he sighed again. "You know what?"

"Hm?"

"Ever since… the whole time we were searching for the stone, Al? Part of me didn't really believe I'd ever be this old."

Al frowned. "Don't say that, Brother," he admonished. "I always believed in you."

Ed looked up at him. "Did you?"

Al nodded. "Of course."

"How do you know?"

Al tipped his head. "What do you mean, how do I know?"

Ed was silent for a few minutes. "You do remember some things, don't you," he said quietly, not really asking as much as stating it as a fact. "Not when you're trying to, but you do remember a little bit."

"Sort of," Al admitted. "Mostly emotions, though. Images, here and there."

"I didn't mean to take your memories, Al. I don't know if they were part of what I traded, or if they're just gone because your body can't remember things it never experienced. I'm sorry-"

"My soul remembers," Al said softly. "Stop apologizing. I wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for you."

Ed reached for his brother's hand, squeezing it tightly. "I love you Al."

He leaned his cheek into Ed's hair. "I love you too."

* * *

"Be careful," Al warned, holding his older brother steady as he grasped the crutch firmly in his hand, pulling it under his shoulder and resting most of his weight on it.

"I am being careful," Ed said through gritted teeth. He wanted to tell his brother to let go of him, that he wasn't going to fall, that he was plenty used to walking on one leg and one crutch, but the truth was it had been nearly four months since he had stood upright and his balance was admittedly shaky.

"You all right?" his brother asked, grey eyes full of concern.

In truth, the heavy ports were pulling at his newly healed skin causing it to sting uncomfortably, and his bones ached and his muscles throbbed, and at this moment he couldn't imagine having actual mechanical limbs attached to these ports that felt more massive than they really were. He knew it was impossible for the metal to rip from his body, clattering to the floor with bits of bloody skin and muscle still clinging to them, but it sure as hell felt like it.

"It's okay to say no," Al said quietly. "Do you want to lay back down?"

Ed shook his head stubbornly. "No, I want to get out of this room."

"O-kay," his brother agreed, continuing to support him as they made their way slowly down the hallway and down the stairs, stopping twice for Ed to rest. Once at the bottom of the stairs, Ed surveyed the living room, which he also hadn't seen in four months. Winry was sitting on the floor with Kaiya between her legs, doing one of those puzzles with the little knobs on each of the large, brightly colored pieces. Other toys of Kaiya's, including a set of plastic tools in a brightly colored plastic toolbox, were strewn about the floor. Kaiya babbled a few syllables and dropped the puzzle piece, stretching out her little hand in Ed's direction and shrieking a few more incomprehensible sounds.

Winry looked up and saw Al helping Ed down the last step, and she stood up immediately. "I didn't say you should come downstairs, Ed!" she said worriedly. "I said you could get up, you know, to go to the bathroom or something!"

Ed smirked, his expression still cocky although he felt physically drained. "Yeah well, I got so excited by taking a piss all by myself that I just got carried away," he said sarcastically.

Winry threw up her hands, shaking her head, and looked him up and down, taking a quick stock of his well being. "Sit down," she ordered, pointing to the couch. "You're exhausted."

"I want to sit on the floor," he said stubbornly, and she rolled her eyes.

"Fine, sit wherever you want," she said, clearly wanting to avoid an argument.

Al helped him sit carefully down in front of the couch, and watched with concern as his brother winced when the stump of his leg hit the floor. "Are you sure you wouldn't be more comfortable on the couch?" he asked.

Ed shook his head. "Nah, I wanna play with Kaiya without worrying about her crawling off the edge of the cushions," he said. She had started crawling early and ever since it had begun Ed had been terrified, somewhat unfoundedly, that she would crawl off the edge of his bed without him being able to stop her. He folded his leg in a half-cross legged position and patted the floor next to him. "Hey," he said to her, "want to come play over here?"

She turned the last piece of her puzzle and watched it snap into place, and said excitedly, "Ma-ma-ma-ma!" and overturned the whole thing, scattering the pieces over the floor again.

Winry crouched down beside her daughter. "Very good!" she said encouragingly. "You're very smart, you know that?"

"Ma-ma-ba-ba!" she responded, picking up a puzzle piece and banging it on the floor.

"Ba-ba?" Winry repeated.

"Ba-baba-ba," Kaiya confirmed, dropping her puzzle piece and staring at her mother. "Ma!"

Winry looked over at the brothers. "Do you think she's saying bottle?"

Al shrugged. "Ba-ba?" he tried.

"Ma-ma-ba-ma!" she said again, and became suddenly very absorbed with her puzzle again, piling the pieces on top of each other.

Al smiled. "Ah, you want your ma-ma to get your ba-ba," he translated, looking over at Winry with a grin.

"Ba-ba?" Winry said to her, but Kaiya had become disinterested with the conversation. She looked at Al. "I think she's just making sounds, I don't think she's really saying bottle," she said. Then Kaiya pushed her puzzle aside and began her lurching crawl across the floor in Ed's direction. When she had begun crawling it had been as if she was in some kind of race, and would propel herself across the floor faster than her baby's coordination would allow, causing her to fall face-first into the floor fairly often, but she seemed to have mastered her speed-crawl and scrambled over to Ed, crawling into what had become "her spot" between his legs. Winry stood up. "I'm going to get her some juice anyway," she said. "Maybe that really is what she wants." Ed wrapped his arm around Kaiya, and for a few minutes she was content to be held, but soon she was squirming out of his grasp.

"Brrroooo," she announced.

Ed touched her nose. "Broo," he said back, smiling.

Winry came back with Kaiya's sippy cup and handed it to Ed. "Here," she directed, "you can give her this. Don't let her throw it across the room."

Ed laughed. "Don't throw your cup, Kaiya," he said, letting her take it out of his hands and bounce it on the floor.

Winry immediately crouched down and picked it up. "I said _don't _let her do that," she said crossly, putting the cup back in her daughter's hands. "Hold on to your juice," she instructed.

"Ma-ma-ma-ma," Kaiya responded.

"She didn't throw it across the room," Ed protested, defending her.

Al switched the radio on, and together they listened to the news broadcast from Central. There had been another bombing earlier in the week, and there was still no information, at least that was made public, about who or what was behind the attacks. Eventually, Ed admitted that the floor was not terribly comfortable after all, and Al helped him onto the couch, ignoring his protests that he was fine and could get up on his own. They sat around the coffee table listening to music and played a few rounds of go fish, which had been a favorite game of the three friends ever since they knew what card games were, and then Al suggested that they open up one of the wine bottles they had been given for the holidays. "To celebrate just being together," he said, and poured the three of them a glass.

Ed took a sip and set his glass aside, out of Kaiya's reach, afraid that the wine would make him even more tired than he already was. It was stupid, he thought, frustrated, that he should be so tired, it wasn't like he did anything other than sit around for a few hours rather than lay around upstairs. He leaned his head back on the couch and stretched his leg out, propping his foot on the coffee table and letting Kaiya hang on his knee.

"She's gonna start walking soon," Al said about the baby, watching her sway back and forth against Ed's knee.

"No she's not," Winry told him. "She's way too young to start walking, no babies start that young. She's only eight months old."

"She'll probably start walking before I do," Ed said.

Winry shrugged. "She might," she agreed. "I think Granny said I started walking by myself at fourteen months. How old were you?" she asked both brothers at once, looking from the younger to the older.

Ed thought for a moment. "I don't know," he said finally.

"You don't know?" Winry repeated, startled at his answer.

Ed shook his head. "No, I don't. And I don't have anyone to ask, either."

"Do you know how old _I _was, brother?" Al asked curiously, realizing that Ed was right, there wasn't anyone around they could ask about their early childhood firsts. If they didn't remember it, they'd likely never know.

Ed was still shaking his head. "I don't know how old you were, Al," he said, his mouth twisting up in a fond smile, "but you started crawling exactly like Kaiya, trying to get everywhere first, and smashing your face into the ground on the way. Only you cried about it more," he added. "And I would come running and try to pick you up."

Al laughed. "Maybe that's why I cried so much, because I wanted your attention," he told him.

"Ed, you cried a lot too," Winry told him teasingly.

"_What?" _he demanded. "I did not!"

"Yes you did," Al and Winry said in unison.

"No I didn't," Ed insisted.

"Whenever you didn't get your way, you cried," Winry said.

Ed narrowed his eyes. "That was a _long _time ago then," he said stiffly. "I was too little to remember that."

"I remember it, Brother, so you couldn't have been that little," Al said, smiling as he took a sip from his wine glass.

His older brother frowned, but was ultimately too tired to continue denying what was apparently true anyway. His eyes snapped up when he heard Al gasp.

"You're bleeding," was what he said, and Ed looked down, startled, seeing the wet redness seeping through his shirt. Winry was at his side in an instant, insisting on knowing why he didn't say anything if his shoulder was hurting him and pulling the collar of his shirt open to dab at the cracking skin with a piece of tissue.

"My shoulder always hurts, I didn't know I was bleeding!" he told her defensively, leaning back on the couch and letting her inspect the area around the port.

"You stay there," she instructed, "I'll be right back." She left the room to retrieve a few medical supplies from her workroom downstairs.

"It's not like I can go anywhere," he hollered after her.

Al looked carefully at his brother, noticing how pale and tired he looked. "If you weren't feeling well," he admonished quietly, "you should have said something."

"But I _liked _being out here with you and Winry and Kaiya like a normal person instead of laying around upstairs in that room!" he said miserably.

Winry returned with some gauze and some antibiotic cream for the irritated skin around the port. "Its too soon for you to be moving around this much," she declared. "I shouldn't have let you come down here, you need to be upstairs in bed. Your body is still too stressed from the trauma of nerve surgery."

"I wasn't moving around," he protested, "I was just sitting here!"

Winry was looking down. "I'm sorry, Ed," she said. "I should have told you right away to go back to bed."

He raised an eyebrow. "Hey, you did, remember? I just didn't listen."

She put a hand on either side of his face, looking at him critically. "You're exhausted. You were tired just from coming down here. You need to go to bed, it's late anyway," she directed.

The fact that he didn't object made it all the more clear just how tired he was. Sighing, he reached for the arm of the couch and flinched as he tried to stand up.

"Be careful," she warned.

"But my good shoulder is fine," he mumbled.

"Your whole body is connected, you know that," she told him. "You're going to start bleeding again." She glanced at Al, who wrapped an arm around his brother's waist.

"I can carry you upstairs," Al offered.

"I can get upstairs on my own!" Ed said, but his voice was lacking its characteristic stubbornness.

"I know you _can," _Al said quietly. "But you don't _have _to, that's why I'm here."

"You can't carry me."

"Brother, you probably weigh about half of what I do right now. Just let me carry you."

Ed didn't say anything, and let his younger brother heft him carefully up in his arms. Al was briefly alarmed at just how light Ed really was with only two limbs, but carried him slowly up to the bedroom and laid him gently on the bed.

"Do you want me to stay here with you?" he asked hesitantly.

Ed pulled the covers up to his chin. "Nah, I'm about to fall asleep as it is," he said, yawning as if to prove his statement.

"Okay," he said, lingering for a moment at the side of the bed. "Good night," he added.

"'Night, Al," he answered, his eyes already closed.

* * *

Winry stood at the top of the stairs in her nightgown, leaning over the railing. "Al," she called down to him. "Come to bed, it's almost one in the morning."

Al was picking up Kaiya's toys that were still strewn about the living room. "I will, lemme just finish up in here," he said, gathering the playing cards and stacking them neatly, putting them back in their box and away in the drawer in the end table. Then he picked up the wine glass Ed had discarded earlier and downed the contents in one long, slow gulp, and put the cork back in the bottle. When he went upstairs to the bedroom Winry was already in bed, curled up on her side with her head on one pillow and the other clutched in her arms.

Al undressed quickly, putting his clothes in the hamper and diving under the covers, wrapping his arms around her and whispering in her ear, "hey you. Gimme back my pillow."

She rolled over, swinging the pillow in an arc over her head, landing it squarely on Al's face. "Thanks," came his muffled response. He was asleep within minutes.

Winry lay awake, watching the shadows on her ceiling, listening to Al's rhythmic breathing. If she listened hard enough she thought she could hear Kaiya sleeping in her crib, and Ed sleeping in the next room. "We're really alone, Al," she said in the darkness, even though she knew he was already asleep.

Al had forgiven her, just like Ed said he would, because Al loved her; loved them both. But even with Al at her side, she was suddenly and painfully aware of how alone she was. _I don't have anyone to ask, _Ed had said earlier, and the conversation had stuck with her, eating away at the back of her mind all evening. None of them had anyone to ask. Granny was not there to tell her she shouldn't have let Ed get out of bed so early, to tell her it was normal for him to bleed around his ports, to tell her exactly how long she needed to wait before attaching the actual automail. Neither her grandmother nor her mother was around to tell her at what age Kaiya should be learning to walk, and her heart twisted, not for the first time, knowing that her daughter would never know her grandparents.

Is this what adults did, she mused, make everything up as they went along? Is that what her parents had done? No, they had Granny to guide them along, to tell them what to expect with their daughter. She didn't want to guess with Ed, to play things by ear. She didn't want to do a single thing that might cause him any more pain than she already had to; she wanted to know for certain that she had done the surgery perfectly, that he would have perfectly functioning limbs in the end, but there was no certainty in anything anymore. She didn't want to guess with her daughter, to cross her fingers and hope she was doing right. Kaiya couldn't even speak yet, and Winry was already dreading the day she would have to answer her questions about why she has three parents when the other little kids have only two. "We're totally alone," she repeated. "None of us has anyone to ask."

"What are you talking about?" Al mumbled blearily, sitting up in bed, looking at her worriedly. She hadn't meant to wake him, and she sighed.

"Nothing," she said finally, and he lay back down. "Go back to sleep."

"We don't need anyone else," Al said, sounding defensive. "We've always been fine on our own."

Winry rolled over on her side. "You're such an Elric," she muttered, pulling the covers tight around herself.

"Were you expecting something different?" Al asked, clearly puzzled, but after a few minutes she heard his breathing return to the slow rhythm of sleep, and continued to stare at the shadows on her ceiling.

* * *

Note1: you may be wondering what was up with Ed and the books. Like, why was Ed all about the Harry Potter book (yep, that's what the kid's book was :P) and totally disinterested in the alchemy book? Ed is an alchemical genius, always has been. Part of it was natural talent, part of it was because he voraciously devoured every alchemy text he could get his hands on, and part of it was because he had innate information inside his mind that he had seen in his first encounter with the Gate. The way I see it, Ed's been through those doors so many times that there isn't a single thing about alchemy he doesn't already know. Even if it's the newest, most advanced theory to hit Amestrian libraries, its nothing new to him. That's why he just puts it aside.

Note2: you may be wondering what on earth is going on in Central, and what's up with Roy and Riza and the others, and the explosion and the red stones and the pyramids and all that. I'm getting to that part. Also the part where Al gets mad. It's coming too, don't worry.


	10. Zwischenzeit III: Walking Forward but St

**Zwischenzeit III: Walking Forward but Standing Still**

She meant well. He knew his mother meant well, and he could picture her leaving the morning paper open and folded just so, so that the minute he stepped into the brightly lit kitchen he could see the headline.

He didn't care. He didn't care about the American who had launched the first rocket in history.

He used to want Germany to be first in this race to the stars. _He _used to want to be first in this race to the stars. He and Ed had spent years dedicated to making it possible.

But Germany lost. He lost. And Ed was lost to him and rockets didn't mean anything to him anymore.

In his dreams he still saw the Gate. At the time he thought that the rocket had exploded, that something had gone wrong, and he had died and his brother had come to greet him at the gates of heaven. Those doors were terrible. He had not been afraid at the time, in fact, he had not felt much of anything at the time, but in his dreams he was terrified. He had visions of the doors opening and sucking him in, and he would wake up already sitting up in bed, sheets twisted around him, sweating and panting and fearful of the shadows in the corners. He would calm himself by forcing his imagination to picture going through those doors- where did they lead? If he had gone through them, instead of turning back, would he be with Ed now?

But Edward told him to go back.

It had been a year now. He had recovered completely from a crash no one believed he could survive. His government begged him to come back to work; they told him he was the most promising young scientist they had, they told him there was so much he could do for his country, to make his country proud.

_You have your own legs, _Edward had told him, only once but it had stuck with him over the years, _use them to keep walking forward. _He did have his own legs. He was strong, he was supposed to be whole. But he had never felt so incomplete.

He knew why his mother had left the paper open for him. She wanted him to go back to Munich. She always said she was proud of him, her son, the scientist, although he would always tell her he hadn't done anything for her to be proud of yet. She would tsk him, ruffle his hair, and tell him he works hard, he has a goal, and that if his brother could see him he would be proud as well. She didn't know what to do with her grown son who moped around the house all day, finding sadness in everything.

"Alphonse," she had asked him once. "Your friend Edward… was he in the rocket with you when it crashed?" _If he died, Alphonse, _he could hear her saying, _it's all right to be so upset. I know you were hurt, but you're better now. What is it that's taken the spark from your eyes? I know you two were close… is that what happened? It's all right to talk about it, you know._

Alphonse had shaken his head, speaking slowly. "You know the report said I was the only one there," he said, keeping his voice level. _The report said a lot of things. It said we never broke the stratosphere, but I know what I saw. I saw stars and planets and a set of doors with a huge eyeball on them, and I saw my brother. _"Edward… disappeared, before we finished the rocket. I don't know what happened to him."

His mother had looked at him questioningly, her expression puzzled, and he was speaking again before he could stop himself.

"The person in the rocket with me disappeared too, it was another Alphonse, just like me. I had a brother named Edward, and Ed had a brother named Alphonse, and Ed was always looking for his brother and when he disappeared his brother appeared in his place, except his brother was me-"

She had stared at him, open mouthed, and placed her hand over his, and finally drew him into a hug, feeling her son shaking in her arms and tried to comfort him the way only a mother could. Whatever it was that had happened to her son, it had driven him to the edge of his sanity. She had given him a warm cup of milk and sent him to bed, the way she would have if he had been a little boy, not a grown man of twenty-seven. He had spoken to her of this only once more, and never again. "Alphonse," she had told him. "You must never tell anyone what you just said. They'll think you're mad, they'll think you've injured your brain," and she would have thought he was mad too, if it weren't for that nagging memory she had of the first time she had seen his friend, the time she had thought, for just a split second, that he was her oldest son returned from the dead.

There were all sorts of things people say about near-death experiences, and she had paid them no mind before, but she knew it was undeniable that something she would never understand had happened in the moments when her son was being rushed to the hospital in Munich, fighting to hold on to his life.

"Mama?"

She looked up from her store ledgers to see her son standing in the doorway of the back room she had converted into an office after her boys had left home. He was pale, and thin, with dark circles under his eyes and rumpled hair, but his gaze was intent.

"I want to go back to Munich… our… my… money is all in the bank there, do you think you could give me a loan? For a ticket?"

She rose from her desk, letting a smile wash over her face. "My dear, I will give you a ticket, if you're ready to go back."

He twisted his hands nervously, seeming not to even notice her delight in his request. "There are things there… that I need to find."

She smoothed her hand over his light, unruly hair, letting her hand come down to cup his chin. "You need to go where your dreams are, Alphonse."

* * *

Alphonse expected to pass by someone he knew on his walk from the Munich train station back to his apartment, but there were only strangers on the sidewalks. There were little buds scattered over the pavement, fallen from the trees that surrounded the train station area, wet and bruised and flattened onto the concrete, and Alphonse studied them on his walk home. When he finally turned his key in the lock, he paused a minute before opening the door.

Two words entered his mind. _Home, _and _empty. _Ah well, he thought, shrugging out of his jacket and hanging it in the closet, where he'd always kept it. His eyes took in the familiarity of all this things, _his and Ed's things, _nothing special or exotic but things of his own, things he had collected here and there over the years: the armchair with the rip in the back he and Ed had found on the side of the road one evening, after a night of drinking, and had furtively carried off to their own place under the cover of night, the rickety bookshelf that had come with the apartment and the sturdier one Ed had taken from his father's house after his death, the dilapidated old couch that the landlady had attempted to re-upholster for them in (_no, thanks, really) _lavender corduroy with even the semi-new cover showing signs of dirt and wear, the windows that could not be scrubbed clean, the cold, cracking boards of the floor, the candles worn down to stubs, all these things were his (_and Ed's)._

He placed one phone call to his sponsor, the government's man, Mr. Silleman, and inquired about his old job.

"Ah, Alphonse, it's a pleasure to hear from you," the man said, calm and friendly as usual, his voice crackling on the other end of the line. "Listen, we've got plenty of work, more, in fact, than our current staff can handle. We'd love to have you back with the team. Of course, you understand, I can't offer you anything permanent, since we won't be assigning you your own project, but there's work, Alphonse, especially for someone like you."

"Fine," Al agreed. "I understand, I'll take it. What ever you can give me."

"You see, it's that American, that Goddard person, and his rocket, he's blowing us out of the water. We, Germany, need to catch up again, we've fallen behind." The man lowered his voice for his next sentence. "Also, there are several undisclosed projects underway, government sponsored, of course, that were ordered by the military. Your expertise would be welcome there as well."

"I see," Al said again. "That's fine," he repeated. "When should I come in?"

After he hung up the phone, he wandered into his bedroom and flopped face down on his bed. His sheets felt cold, and smelled musty, but he stayed there for several minutes, not moving, barely breathing. Then he sat up, and went over to his desk, pulling down his notebooks from the shelves in the bedroom, the ones that housed his and Ed's (and Ed's brother's) notes and research they had worked on exclusively for government projects. He flipped thought them aimlessly, unsure of exactly what he was looking for; after all, he knew his own research like he knew the back of his hand. He touched the words on the pages, identifying the other Al's writing, similar to his own yet not, and Ed's crooked but neat writing further back in the binders. _Keep walking forwards, there's no reason not to keep on walking forward, _he told himself firmly.

However, after what seemed like ages of flipping through what once set his mind alight with ambition, he closed the notebooks and re-shelved them, careful as always to keep them in chronological order, and strode purposefully into his living room and stared up and the shelves in there.

It was the solid oak bookcase Ed had brought from his father's house, and all of the Professors collected books, rare and ancient tomes on early sciences and more modern publishings on occult and crackpot theories. _These books are valuable, _Ed had insisted, and Al believed him, especially some of the old ones that were surely first editions. But they meant more to Ed than that, more than just their monetary value or even their sentimental value: for years after they began to research together in earnest, Ed would jump up in the middle of what he was working on, grapping his notes and pulling books from these shelves, flipping through them and devouring their words so voraciously Al would often think he was mad.

And to top it all off, the books were nonsense. Dead sciences that had resulted in nothing more than dreams, and occult practices that were down right creepy and no more creditable than the ancient recipes for creating human creatures (_horse semen?)_. Al had tried, on more than one occasion, to get some kind of explanation out of Ed as to what on earth he found of value in these books, and Ed had been vague, equally as vague as his father had been when Al once had the opportunity to question the man about what exactly he studied. At the time, Al had merely chalked it up to just one more Edward Elric oddity.

When Ed's brother, his double, had turned up, these books were the first things he turned to. He, like Al himself, eventually declared them worthless, but he had devoured them with as much enthusiasm as Ed had, as if he understood something in them Al never could.

Al reached for one with a basic-seeming title, not terribly old, and not blatantly cult-associated, and flipped it open curiously.

Maybe it was because these had been Ed's books, or maybe it was because Al thought he had a new understanding, or at least appreciation for these ancient sciences, if Ed's brother's insistence that the Elrics had come from a world where alchemy, not machinery, was the most developed science, but either way, the book was instantly more fascinating to him than it had been every time he had teased Ed for consulting it.

He lit the stub of the candle that had been left on his desk, probably by the other Al, and reminded himself to pick up new ones the next day, knowing it would burn down before he was even halfway through the volume.

He needed, desperately, something to work towards, even if that something was only his own peace of mind.


	11. Chapter Seven: The Calm Before

**Chapter Seven**: The Calm Before

The sound of her footsteps on the tiled floor marked the deliberate pacing that was a well-known habit of the General. She paused, turning smartly on her heel, looked her communications officer in the eye, and said, "No, I don't like it. Something doesn't sound right about it."

He frowned. She was only echoing his own sentiments, and he hoped for some inkling of direction from her.

She turned back to the window, staring out at the walls surrounding the base. "It's almost like someone is deliberately feeding us false information," she mused, and he nodded. "Whoever they are, they've got operatives who are in this pretty deep, maybe in this base itself."

He cleared his throat. "General Hawkeye, we've been through the personnel files of every soldier stationed here, nothing seems out of the ordinary."

"Of course not," she said briskly, turning her back to the window and leaning against the glass, her hands spread at her sides along the sill. "Of course it doesn't seem that way, not at first glance."

"Investigations is already-"

"Not investigations," she interrupted him, looking at him intently. "_You._ Until we get to the bottom of this, involve as little people as you can. I trust you, but I can't trust everyone, and the evidence is clear. They have someone, or some _ones_, inside the base."

He pulled his hand up in a salute, spouting out "Yes ma'am!" and turning to leave.

"And Lieutenant!" she called after him, stopping him in his tracks, and he watched her point to the offending object on her desk. "What is this?"

He kept his features carefully blank as he answered, "That's a bouquet of flowers, General, ma'am."

"Who brought it in here?" she demanded, hands still clasped behind her back, eyes still a-flash with suspicion.

"Ah, the secretary, ma'am. They're from your husband," he added helpfully, because that's what the secretary had told him, and that was the rumor that had been circulating the base: General Hawkeye was married to someone else in the military, someone who also held a high position, and the relationship was kept under wraps for professional reasons.

She arced an eyebrow. "They're a security risk," she said crisply, turning back to the window and waving her hand at them. "Remove them at once."

* * *

"Al," the blonde mechanic directed sharply, pressing down firmly on the older brother's flesh shoulder. "Let go of his hand, he'll smash your fingers." Al released the hand reluctantly, and she snapped, "Hold his hip with your free hand, don't let him jerk off the table." She held the connection lever firmly in her own hand, making eye contact with Al across the table, and watched Ed squeeze his eyes shut in anticipation of the shock to his system. With a nod, they pulled their respective levers in unison, and Ed arched his back off the table and gritted his teeth. He gave a strangled cry that was cut short when the color drained from his face and his body relaxed suddenly on the table.

"Brother!" Al cried out, leaning closer to his face and turning his head to look questioningly at Winry.

"He's fine, Al, he just passed out," she assured him briskly. She had connected automail for dozens of patients, not only him, and she knew exactly what she was doing, although Ed was the only patient she ever replaced more than one limb for. Shoving her hands under his shoulders, she gave a grunt. "Come on, Al," she instructed, "help me move him to the bed."

Even between the two of them he was nearly too heavy, and they strained under the weight of heavy steel.

Winry hated this part. She hated causing him pain. She knew it was normal for a patient to lose consciousness after the trauma of nerve connection; she knew everything had gone smoothly but she still hated seeing him like this, pale and unconscious and hurting. She glanced over at Al, and knew he was thinking the same thing.

She watched his eyelids flicker, unsure if he was waking up already or not, but in another moment she was looking into gold eyes that were bright with pain. "It's over," she said reassuringly. "That was the worst of it."

He nodded slightly, and squeezed his eyes shut, turning his head to face the wall as his brother put a cool cloth over his burning forehead.

* * *

Riza frowned, muttering to herself as she rolled up the map and exited the conference room. Something wasn't adding up.

Amestris had been at an uneasy cease-fire with Drachma for over two years now with no hint of progress on a treaty, and now the Drachmen leaders suddenly were willing to make concessions. She couldn't shake the feeling that the meeting had been a cover for some already pre-determined, unofficial agreement, and it worried at her unrelentingly. Everywhere she turned there was deception in this new government, and at times she didn't know who to follow.

She was a good General, she knew that, that was why she had been promoted so many times, but, as she had been doing more and more frequently, she found herself wishing for the days of following the man she believed in and pushing him to the top.

Returning to her office, she sat down at her desk, twirling a pencil on its eraser and trying to make some sense out of the current situation. She could see the ring of water the vase from the flowers had left on the wood, and absently swiped her finger through it, thinking vaguely to herself that it looked like it could be a transmutation circle.

Just then her phone rang, and she shook herself, answering it promptly, "Hawkeye."

"Did you get what I had delivered?" He didn't identify himself but she recognized his voice immediately; only those she worked the closest with had her direct line at the base.

"General," she said coldly, "Firstly, I don't have time for anything so frivolous, and secondly, I've ruled that everything not entirely necessary to the function of this base to be a security risk. I had them thrown away."

There was silence on the other end, and she frowned, drawing another line through the ring of water in the corner of her large desk. Finally she heard him clear his throat. "You threw away the papers?" he asked hesitantly, sounding uncertain.

At his words she sat up straight, her eyes snapping open. Had there been information concealed somehow in the bouquet? Was she wrong to assume they were merely another desperate attempt to win her back as more than just a co-worker? "Why did you send them that way?" she demanded, firing the questions at him one by one. "Why were you so secretive, why not just have them delivered military post?"

"What are you talking about?" he snapped back through the line. "I had Havoc personally deliver them to you, so there wouldn't be any chance of the information leaking out, I know you've been having security problems in Dillon; it's been all over Central command." He was silent for a moment, thinking. "I take it they haven't been received," he said tightly. "Damnit!" he swore. "I haven't heard from the Second Lieutenant in three days, and I assumed he must be living it up there in Dillon or something."

"You didn't send me flowers," she said quietly, her cheeks burning. Someone had gotten those flowers past security, and they weren't sent out of any misplaced affections of her ex-husband.

"Why in god's name would I do that? You've always sent them back before," he raged. She could hear something through the phone, probably him pounding his fist down on his desk. _Control your temper, Colonel, _she would have snapped in the old days, and he would have sat up at attention, as if it were her in charge of him and not the other way around. "I can't get out of Central right now," he said, his voice weary. "Things are too tied up with the terrorist attacks and the civilian unrest, or I would have come and spoken to you personally." He groaned. "I knew I should have been worried when Havoc never checked in with me. I needed someone I trust to touch base with our contacts in Altenburg." By "contacts" she knew he meant the Elrics, and wondered what was going on.

"Sir," she inquired, "what was it Havoc was supposed to bring me?"

"I'm not telling you over the phone," he said quietly. "You're right to worry about the security in your base. Something isn't right here either. Records I know I've read over are turning up missing, or worse, they're filed but I can tell they've been altered. Classified government files from before the coup are unable to be located, and the president thinks the military has them-"

"What does this have to do with Altenburg?" she asked, her brows drawing together in worry. Roy hadn't sounded this scattered, this _panicked, _since the days after the coup when they were both unsure of their fates.

"In my search through the military files," he said carefully, "I found records of an Edward Heiderich, suspected to be the Fullmetal Alchemist, having been arrested and released in Central last fall." She nodded; she had heard all about that incident. "But there are more current records of him having been in Central, even up to several weeks ago, and of course that's impossible. Someone, for some reason, must be using his name, to what gain I don't know."

"Wasn't there another alchemist, years ago, in Xenotime, who posed as Fullmetal?" she mused.

She could hear him sigh on the other end. "It's not him, I've already located him. He's in Xenotime with his younger brother, working on some kind of agricultural alchemy project for the government's reconstructive efforts. He hasn't been in Central in years."

"But what reason would anyone have to use Edward's title?"

"I don't know," he said quietly. "I was hoping our friends could shed some light on this. I haven't been able to keep in good contact with them recently. Do you have anyone you can send to Altenburg?"

She nodded. "I'll go myself," she said at once. "And I'll have my people call you if Havoc turns up here, or if anything is heard about him at all."

"Thank you," he said, sounding relieved. "With the way things are going in this country, I don't want to do anything that would put them in danger, but one of them might be able to tell us something. I just haven't been able to get out of Central."

"Sir, it's all right. I'll go. I'll let you know if I learn anything."

"Thank you," he said again. "And Riza?" he added after another moment of silence. "Be careful."

She pursed her lips. "I'm always careful, Sir."

* * *

When he woke up his vision slowly came into focus on his best friend, sitting on the side of his bed, dropping her set of miniature screwdrivers from one hand into the other in a series of metallic _clinks._ Her hair was still tied under the scarf she wore when she worked, but several strands had worked themselves loose and hung in chunks around her face.

Careful not to move at all, he took a moment to assess his body. His nerves felt like something was sparking through them, which was, if not pleasant, at least familiar to him. He remembered vividly the efforts he spent fighting with his makeshift prosthetics wishing for even the pain of automail attachment, something he had always dreaded, if it meant he would be able to move freely.

He could feel the weight of the limbs pulling unnaturally on his body, and he remembered that as well. It was painful but familiar, and he felt his shoulder jerk involuntarily. That, too, was to be expected.

The movement startled her, and Winry looked down at him, putting the screwdrivers down on the sheets beside her.

"How long have I been out?" he asked, his voice cracking and his throat feeling scratchy.

"About two hours," she said softly. "Do you want something to drink?"

He nodded, slightly, and remained still as he watched her stand up, leaving her pile of screwdrivers on the bed, and stride over to the sink in the workshop, reaching up to the shelf above for a glass for him. She returned, setting the glass on the bedside table and frowning. "You're going to have to sit up a little, Ed," she said apologetically, and he nodded.

"All right," he agreed.

She pulled an extra pillow from the closet, and set a steadying arm around his shoulders as he lifted his head, shifting with the smallest of movements he could manage and grimacing at the sensations that went ringing through the wires, up into the ports and into his nervous system. Mid-way to sitting up he froze, eyes squeezed shut, breathing heavily. Through the rush of electricity he could feel her rough hand on his flesh arm. "That's normal, Ed," she said soothingly. "Just stay still a moment, let your body adjust.

He gave another slight nod. "I know," he said hoarsely. After a few more deep breaths, he opened his eyes and sat up a little further, allowing her to slip the pillow behind him so he could lean back, letting the wall behind him support some of the weight of the metal arm that was bolted to his chest. She handed him the glass, and he drank it slowly, careful not to spill any on the sheets. "Where's Al?" he asked, looking around.

"He went upstairs about a half hour ago, do you want me to get him?" she offered.

He nodded, staring down at the yet-immobile right hand at his side. The fingers twitched slightly, and he felt the twinge inside the port in his shoulder. A faint smile flickered on his lips. "How soon till I can get up, Win?" he asked her, looking up at her.

She shrugged. "You can get whenever you're ready," she said grudgingly. "If you feel up to it. You're not going to be able to move, of course-" She looked skeptically at the stairs leading up into the house. "I'll have to get Al to help me get you up the stairs, you're about five times as heavy as you were, Ed," she added.

He shifted slightly on the cot, wincing at the way his every movement seemed to jar the ports of his arm and leg into a flurry of electrical activity. He heard the door at the top of the stairs open, and his brother's voice called down, "Winry? Kaiya wants you, she keeps yelling ma-ma-ma-ma, can you come upstairs? I can't figure out what she wants."

Ed gestured to the stairway with his left hand. "Go ahead," he told her.

She stood up, facing the stairway. "Al, your brother's awake," she called back, and Ed could hear the thunder of his brother's footsteps on the wooden stairs. They passed in the doorway; Winry heading up and Al entering the workshop.

When Al looked he thought Ed seemed to be unconscious; he was completely still and his eyes were closed. His eyebrows were drawn together across his forehead, and when Al approached the cot he reached out, drawing his thumb lightly over the wrinkle between his eyes, wanting to make it disappear. One gold eye slit open. "Hey," he said weakly.

"How do you feel?" Al asked, pulling a chair up to the cot and sitting down.

"Like I'm being over run by electricity," came the response, and the other eye opened as well.

His brother looked small, Al thought. And young. And tired, but not necessarily in pain.

"See that?" Ed asked quietly, and Al blinked.

"See what?" he asked, following his brother's eyes to the automail hand and saw the thumb and first finger twitch, coming closer together and almost touching.

A weak grin cracked across his pale face. "They're moving, Al," he said, his voice softly excited. "My fingers are moving."

* * *

He would never get tired of it.

Ed watched his daughter pick up the red crayon and throw it on the ground with an expression of pure delight. He picked it up. The blue crayon was next. He picked it up and handed her the orange one, smiling. "Look," he said, "on the paper, see?" He laughed as she banged the crayon down on the paper repeatedly, making a collection of orange marks on the white expanse.

When Kaiya discovered that the crayon would break if she banged it hard enough, she threw both halves of the orange on the floor and picked up the blue, intent on it meeting the same fate.

He heard her coming down the stairs before he saw her. Winry leaned her chin on the banister, and Ed tipped his head backwards, looking at her upside down. "What?" he asked her lazily.

"Al's upstairs _working_ on something," she complained.

"I know," he told her, "that's why I'm down here playing with the baby."

Winry rolled her eyes. "You'd take any excuse to play with her," she teased.

"So would you," he countered. "I thought Al was on leave," he added. "What's he got to work on?"

Winry narrowed her eyes. "Well, that's your oh-so-good friend General Mustang for you. 'Sure, Al, I'll put you on leave for as long as you want, I'll do anything for you Elrics. But while you're on leave let me just call you back to Central every few weeks and send you home with extra work so you just _think _you're on leave.' What are you _doing?" _she asked then, reaching over the railing and messing her fingers through his bangs.

He immediately brought his hand up to flatten them back down. "Huh?"

She came down the last few steps and flopped down on the couch next to him. "What have you been doing all day?" she repeated. "Al's holed up in his study and I've been filling orders for customers, what have you been doing?"

"I did all my exercises!" he said defensively, inching away from her. "I'm doing everything I'm supposed to be doing!"

She fixed her blue eyes on his. "Ed. I _know _that. That's not what I was asking. What are you doing right now?"

"Huh?" he said again, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. "Just… I dunno, what do I always do? Kaiya and I are bumming around. We were coloring and stuff," he said, gesturing to the crayons and paper spread out over the coffee table.

She leaned over, reaching for one of the thick sheets of paper with blue and orange marks in the corner of it. "Did you do this one?" she teased, her eyes glinting with a smile.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "No, mine's the one with the airplane on it."

"Airplane?" she asked curiously. Then she sat up on the couch, clasping her hands together. "You mean the machines that can fly up in the air?" she all but shrieked.

Ed chuckled. "Yeah, that," he affirmed, looking at her with amusement.

She clutched the piece of construction paper to her chest, and he imagined he could almost _see_ the little stars floating around in her eyes. Winry flung her arms out to her sides, still clutching the drawing and flopping back into the couch, and sighed. "Can you _imagine_!" she said wistfully, staring up at the ceiling. "Operating a machine that _flies, _what amazing technology! To feel the wind on your face, to be high above the word, up with the clouds, nothing but you and that beautiful machine… oh, Ed, how does it stay up there?"

He rubbed the back of his head, knowing he couldn't get away with a simple explanation; this was _Winry, _after all. "Well, I told you I'd teach you how they work, remember?" When she nodded, he continued. "It'll take a while to explain-"

"D'you think we can make one?" she said excitedly.

"You want to _build _an airplane?" he repeated, startled but not entirely surprised.

"Isn't that what you were doing?" she demanded, and he stared at her. "In that other place, in Germany, weren't you building a machine that was going to fly up into space?"

His mouth hung open. "How did you know that?" he asked her.

She folded her arms in front of herself. "Al told me. He said you and your… your _friend _were building a rocket because you thought you could get back here that way. Right?"

Ed continued to stare.

"And then Al and your friend finished building it while you were here, and that's how Al got back." She looked at him. "Right?"

"I didn't know Al told you that," he said finally, and looked away.

She chased his eyes, moving over the couch back into his line of sight. "I don't know why _you _didn't tell me," she added before she could stop herself, letting an indignant tone creep into her voice.

"You didn't ask!" he protested.

"Ed!" she argued, sitting up on her knees now, so even sitting on the couch together she was taller. "Yes I _did _ask you, and you said I wouldn't understand."

He shook his head. "If I said you wouldn't understand something, I was talking about alchemy. I'm sure you _would _understand about planes, in fact, if you had been born in that world instead of this one, I'm sure it would have been you, not me and Al, being the one to send a rocket all the way into space," he told her, trying to placate her.

She sat back down. "You and Al and your friend," she corrected quietly. "It was you and your friend who built your rocket, and when you were gone Al just helped him finish up." She had said something wrong, she could tell by the way his expression became that of someone who wasn't there. She figured, right then, that even if she waved her hand in front of him he wouldn't see her. He was somewhere else entirely. "Ed," she called softly. "Come back to earth."

"I am," he said, his voice vague but his eyes no more focused than they were. "I am back on earth."

"What was your friend's name?" she asked, surprising herself. She didn't even know where that question had come from, there were plenty of things about Ed's stay in Germany she was more curious about than the name of his lover.

He blinked, his gaze coming into focus once more, and he turned to face her, seeming to be debating whether or not to answer her. Finally what ever he was struggling with was resolved, and he said, "Alphonse."

Winry raised her eyebrows. "Really? His name was Alphonse? Wow. That's a coincidence, isn't it?" She didn't understand why he flushed the way he did, looking away and stammering some kind of explanation, reaching for the drawing again and looking at it as if it had some kind of answer he could not provide. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined Ed with another man, but so it was, and who was she to think anything of it, she who had seduced (but there was no seduction involved!) his younger brother at the tender age of fourteen.

"It's aerodynamics," he said, nervous, his eyes darting from side to side. "It's like a push-pull, to keep it up. There's gravity," he said, his voice becoming more even, more steady. "Gravity wants to pull the plane down, so it's built with wings, see? And the wings give it lift. And the air, the air pushes against the plane, but it can fly through the air anyway because it has this huge engine that's working against the air, and it pushes back harder than the air pushes…" he snatched a pencil off the table and began scribbling things next to his crude drawing. "It's really all about physics," he said, and she leaned in closer, suddenly fascinated with his descriptions of the foreign science, and, glad he was at ease again, she vowed never to bring up that 'other Alphonse' ever again.

* * *

Ed had found himself inordinately exhausted that night, and fell asleep early, sprawled atop the blankets with his clothes still on. He woke with a start several hours later; when he looked at the clock it was nearly one am. He could hear music coming from the other side of the wall, in Winry's room, and rubbed his eyes, looking down at himself and realizing he had been sleeping in his clothes.

With a yawn, he stood up at rummaged through the drawers and pulled out some pajamas to put on, and then gave his automail a good stretch before venturing down the stairs to see what Al was up to this late.

His brother was not in the living room or in the kitchen, and Ed assumed he would not be another story down in Winry's workshop if Winry was in her room. Puzzled, he made the difficult climb back up the stairs to check the study, but Al was not in there either. Pausing in the doorway of their bedroom, he thought he heard voices in Winry's room, and felt his cheeks turning red when he realized exactly where his younger brother was and what he was doing.

Unsure of how to feel, he let himself flop down on the bed again, holding his automail hand above his face, studying it against the white of the ceiling. Slowly, he clicked each finger together with his thumb, something he hadn't been able to do in ten years and something he had never been certain he would _ever_ be able to do again, and let a smile flit across his face. Maybe, he thought, everything would turn out okay. Maybe he hadn't destroyed his brother's relationship the night he returned to his own world. Maybe he could live the rest of his life here, in the little three-story house in Altenburg, with his brother, his best friend, and his daughter. Maybe, slowly, just like Munich, this town would become home. He had a family all his own again, now, and maybe he would never leave them.

Edward Elric was tired of leaving things behind.

His father had left him when he was barely old enough to understand what was happening, and then his mother had left him too, when he was plenty old enough to know what had happened, and ever since then he felt his life had become a series of leaving things behind.

The brothers had left their home in Rizembool, burning it to the ground so they could not return even if they had wanted to, and with it they burned their childhoods, he realized now. So that had been left behind as well. When they had found –not really found, but _obtained- ­_the Philosopher's Stone, they had left the military behind as well, including the people who genuinely cared about them.

In crossing the gate he had, albeit unintentionally, left behind once more everyone he cared about, and in crossing back to his own world he had done the same.

He did not want to do it again.

Eventually he drifted back into sleep, and dreamed strangely of his father, whom he hadn't thought of in a long time, except to answer Al's questions. When he woke the next morning the image of his father's face, his eyes hidden behind the glare on his glasses, was burned into his mind.

* * *

"I can't, Winry, I'm sorry, I know it's beautiful outside but I have too much to do right now," he heard his brother protesting on the top floor of the house. Kaiya, as far as he knew, was playing in Al's study upstairs, and he looked listlessly at the book that rested in his lap. It was the one Roy had given him for his birthday, _The Life and Times of the Fullmetal Alchemist, _and he had to admit, it was entertaining in its inaccuracies, but after about the fifth reading it, like every other book he'd acquired since returning, seemed to loose its charm.

"This isn't fair, Al," Winry said darkly. "You're supposed to be on leave, and yet somehow I still never get to spend time with you-"

"Well what do you want me to do about it?" Al exploded, and Ed flinched, looking up towards the stairway. "Shall I just not do my job, because my girlfriend wants to spend time with me?"

"You said you'd always make time for me!" she snapped. "But I see what's really important to you!"

"Winry, that's not-"

"Forget it."

"No, wait, I-"

"I _said, _forget it. You have work to do."

"Are you mad at me?" Al demanded

"No," she said harshly. "I'm not mad at you."

"Well then quit acting like it," he hollered after her, his voice echoing off the upstairs hall.

Ed hurriedly looked away when he heard her storming down the stairs. He expected her heavy sigh and heavier flop on the couch, he didn't expect her abrupt announcement, "Why does he always think I'm mad at him?" She looked at him and added, "Don't give me that smirk, I'm not in the mood for you right now either. _God, _I don't know how Al puts up with me."

He leaned his cheek on his hand. "Cause he loves you," he told her simply. Then he looked towards the window. "_I'll_ go for a walk with you, if you don't mind walking slow," he offered. "It looks like it's the first nice day of the year."

She stood up, looking at him critically. "Are you sure you're up to it?" she asked skeptically.

He narrowed his eyes, sitting up straighter. "_Yes,_" he insisted, challenging her. "I said we'd go slow. I'll be fine."

She shrugged. "All right then," she said, reaching into the closet for a light jacket. Then she pulled one out and handed it to him. "Here, wear Al's, since he clearly isn't going anywhere today."

He took it from her, not saying anything, and she followed him out of the house and down the stairs, which he took carefully, grabbing at the banister for the last few but making it down without incident. She walked behind him for a few steps. "Put your heel down first, Ed," she instructed from behind him, and he stopped short, turning around.

"I know how to _walk,_" he snapped, putting his hand on his hip.

"No, you don't," she argued, "or you'd be putting your heel down first. Your left leg needs to do exactly what your right leg does."

Ed smacked his forehead. "Gah!" he said in frustration. "Can you be my friend for just _one minute, _instead of being my mechanic? I thought we were going for a walk, not having an afternoon of criticizing Ed."

She folded her arms, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk. "Why do you have to argue with everything I say?" she demanded.

He raised an eyebrow at her, then tried to hide a smirk.

"What?"

He tried to wipe his expression unsuccessfully.

"_What, _Ed?" she repeated.

"No wonder Al always thinks you're mad, if this is what you act like," he said mischievously.

She just glared at him, and stayed a step behind him as they continued down the sidewalk. "That's better," she called after him after a few more steps.

He began to slow his pace more and more until they were finally walking side by side.

"You should have brought the cane," she added after a few minutes of silence. "You're still dragging your automail."

She could see him stiffen, his lips forming a thin line, but he nodded. "Maybe," he conceded.

"Lets stop in the soda shop there," she suggested, gesturing to the little store counter on the other side of the street from them.

Ed looked relieved, and immediately agreed. They crossed the street, and he stepped quickly in front of her and held the door open with a flourish, smiling when he saw her shake her head at his attempts.

The shop was full of kids; giggling groups of girls and teenagers on first dates. Ed could imagine Winry and Al coming here, sharing a soda and looking into each other's eyes.

"We should have brought Kaiya with us," Winry mused, hopping up on one of the counter stools and resting her elbows on the counter and her chin on her hands. "You could have pushed her in the stroller."

He shrugged, taking the stool next to hers. "Oh well. We can come again, you know." He frowned, turning sharply when he heard a series of giggles from behind them. The group of girls were ducking behind their menus, and he was sure he saw one of them point. "What's their deal?" he said crossly, looking down at his metal hand. "Don't they know it's rude to stare? Haven't they ever seen someone with automail before?"

Winry smiled, shaking her head. "Ed, I don't think it's the automail they're staring at," she said with amusement.

His frown increased. "Well what the hell?"

She looked from the girls back to him, trying to figure out if he could really be so clueless, and finally told him, "Well, either they think you're cute, or they know who you are. Or both." When his cheeks flushed pink, she almost giggled herself.

"I don't think they know who I am," he mumbled, looking down at the counter. "I look completely different now."

She shrugged. "You don't look _that_ different, Ed. Besides, I'm pretty sure everyone in this town knows who you are by now."

Ed looked up when he realized someone was standing in front of them, and saw a man in a white coat standing behind the counter, smiling. "What can I get for you, sir?" he asked, his voice friendly. He was polishing a sundae glass as he spoke.

He turned to Winry. "What are you getting?" he asked her awkwardly.

"I'll have a cherry soda, thank you," she said with a smile, and the man nodded.

"Uh, I'll have the same I guess," Ed said quickly, feeling uncomfortable with the way he was being looked at. Wasn't his return supposed to be this huge secret?

Soon there were two glasses of fizzing red drink in front of them. "So," Ed said after a few minutes of silence and sipping. "Did you and Al come here a lot?"

She shrugged. "When he was around, we did." She looked to the side, out the window at the people passing on the sidewalk, when she said, "This is where we came on our first date."

Ed nodded. His guess had been correct, then. "There was a soda shop like this in Rizembool, in town," he remembered, and Winry nodded.

If he had never talked Al into trying to transmute their mother, if they had both grown up in Rizembool living next door to the Rockbells, he and Al might have fought over who got to take Winry to the soda shop. He wondered who would have won.

"_Ed, you cant be serious! You expect me to believe you?" Al asked him teasingly. "You've never been on a date?"_

_He just shrugged. "Well, really, what kind of girl would want to go on a date with me?"_

_Al's expression was mocking. "I dunno, a bookworm maybe, someone who drowns herself in other people's words, just like you do. Imagine how much you'd have to talk about!"_

_Ed rolled his eyes. "I have you for that, Al."_

_Al laughed. "Well, that's very sweet, but I worry about you, you know? You never try to meet anyone. Aren't you even interested in girls?"_

_Ed fixed him with a serious gaze. "I have more important things to think about, you know that. I don't have time for dates and girls." He snorted. "Besides, what kind of girl," he asked his friend slowly, "could possibly find me attractive?" His eyes took on that faraway look they got sometimes, the one that made Al's mind burn with questions he never dared to ask. "Unless there's someone out there who has a thing for mechanical parts."_

_"Well, I think you're pretty attractive," Al said sweetly. "Mechanical parts and all."_

_His friend just rolled his eyes again, returning to stirring his coffee. "There was a girl, once," he said softly, in a brief moment of honesty. "She was my best friend, and my brother's best friend." He gave a light laugh. "Hell, she was practically the only girl I knew, or noticed, at least. And she was very beautiful."_

_"What happened to her?" Al asked hesitantly. Ed's voice was so soft, and his eyes were so sad, that he half expected Ed to tell him that this girl had died, or that something else tragic had come between them._

_"I don't know," he said, very quietly. "She probably wonders the same thing about me." He pushed his chair away from the table, standing abruptly and tossing a few bills on the table to pay for their coffee. "Let's get out of here," he said shortly, making it very clear that the reminiscence was over._

Winry was waving a hand in front of his face, and he blinked. "What?" he demanded.

She laughed. "What were you thinking about?" she asked curiously. "You looked completely gone."

He shrugged. "Maybe I was," he told her, unwilling at first to elaborate on his thoughts.

_Were you thinking about your friend?_ she nearly found herself asking, but stopped herself right before she spoke. His reply startled her.

"Actually I was thinking that I've never been on a date," he said hesitantly, and he seemed very young suddenly.

"Well this isn't a date," she said quickly, and he shrugged.

"I know." He stirred his soda with the straw, and let his gaze wander around the shop once more. Most people had stopped staring by then; he guessed the commotion over his presence had died down. "Did you and Al really start dating when he was fourteen?" he asked her abruptly.

She blinked, even more startled this time. He didn't sound like he was accusing her of anything, merely like he was curious, but her answer was still cautious. "Sort of," she admitted. "Al… wanted me to move to Central with him, so that we wouldn't be so far apart all the time," she told him, "but I didn't want to leave Rizembool. Of course, eventually I had to, because of the war, but-" she paused, taking another sip of her soda. "We moved here because it's a good place for my business; a lot of retired soldiers live here and in the nearby towns, so I get a lot of customers. And it's close enough to Central that Al could come home more often." She shrugged. "Once we got to see one another more than a few times a year, things just… happened."

Ed looked like he was debating whether or not to say something, and she frowned. "What?" she demanded, on the verge of defensive.

"I didn't say anything," he protested, but her glare persisted.

"You were going to," she pressed. "What was it?"

He looked directly at her. "I think," he said slowly, "that fourteen is very young."

She could have rolled her eyes, told him to mind his own business, snapped at him that he didn't understand; there were a number of responses she had stored up for comments like his. Altenburg was a gossipy place, like any small town, and Alphonse had been famous already. She was used to criticism from strangers.

But Ed wasn't a stranger. "Yeah," she said softly. "It is." She looked down at the tiled floor under her feet. "But Al always says he has two ages. When his body was fourteen, his mind was eighteen."

"Do you believe that?" he asked intently.

"I don't know," she admitted. Age was a tricky thing. She herself was an adult now, but couldn't say she always felt like one. Ed was four years older than her, but sometimes the difference seemed massive and sometimes it seemed like nothing. Sometimes she even felt like the older one. When she watched the brothers together she could sometimes believe that they were really only a year apart, but she couldn't tell if that was because in her mind that was how she always thought of their ages or if that was how a stranger would see them too. "Do you?" she asked curiously.

Ed shrugged. "I don't know either," he told her.

She was expecting some kind of argument from him, and when none was forthcoming she demanded, "Why are you asking me this? Is this some kind of equivalent trade for the other day?"

He had finished his soda and was twisting his straw into an "o" shape. "Huh?"

"Are you asking me about Al because I was asking you about your friend?"

He dropped the mangled straw onto the counter and raised his eyes to her. "No," he said simply. "I'm asking because I'm thinking about Kaiya."

"Kaiya?" she repeated. He was never thinking about what she thought he was thinking about. "Edward Elric, you are the most difficult person to read I've ever known."

He arched an eyebrow. "I've been told that before, I think," he said nonchalantly. "And Al's probably the easiest."

She wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that either, so she slurped up the last of her soda with a loud sucking sound, turning a few heads. "You're worried about me and Al, and Kaiya?" she echoed, bringing him back to his first puzzling statement.

"I don't want to ruin her family," he said with difficulty. "That's what my dad did. I'm not him. If you and Al are- that serious-" he looked away. "I just want to be sure that she isn't going to lose anyone. That she'll always have her parents. That she'll never have to be alone, without anyone to keep her from making the same mistakes Al and I did."

"Ed!" she said, surprised. "She won't be alone! She has all three of us-"

"She needs _two _parents," he interrupted. "Not three. I don't want her to grow up confused. I don't want the other kids around her saying things, whispering things…"

His voice trailed off but Winry could fill in the missing words. She remembered how the other kids talked about the brothers after their dad left. She remembered the teasing and the whispers and the speculations. Both Ed and Al had brushed it off as if it was no matter, pushing away the comfort she had offered them when they were children, but clearly it had mattered, if it was something Ed was still worried about.

"She's your daughter, Ed," she told him, her voice low, serious. She felt her heart pounding in her chest. Part of her believed that, and she could tell part of him believed it as well. "She won't grow up confused. Everything is going to be fine. We'll all three love her as much as we can, and she'll be fine."

He wasn't looking at her. "If I had never come back, we wouldn't be in this situation," he said quietly.

"If you hadn't come back," she said, equally quiet, "she wouldn't even be here."

"We don't know that," he insisted. "It could be you and Al and her, happily ever after, with nothing to come between you."

Winry stood up, pushing her empty glass to the back of the counter. "Ed!" she exclaimed. "Enough of this! It wouldn't have been happily ever after and you know it! Neither of us was happy without you here!"

He stared at her standing there in front of him with her hands on her hips, blowing a stray lock of hair out of her face, her eyes bright with frustration.

"Come on," she said, taking him by the arm. "I've been cooped up inside all week trying to finish those orders. You said yourself this is the first nice day of the year, lets get out and enjoy it!"

He blinked once, then cracked a hesitant grin. "Okay," he agreed, pushing his own glass to the back of the counter. "Let's enjoy it."

* * *

Second Lieutenant Havoc pretended to show a genuine interest in the plain, mousy woman who had elbowed her way into the spot next to him on the crowded train to Dillon. She had begun with mournful complaining about the heat in the compartment and the lack of seats. "They should really built bigger trains," she groused, "after all, I paid for a ticket same as everyone else, why should I have to stand? You know what I mean?" she demanded, looking up at him, and he had nodded neutrally. "It's really hot in here, too. Doesn't that uniform make you over heat?" She was pulling her blouse away from her thin chest, attempting to fan herself. "Because let me tell you, I am beyond overheating. This train is just too stuffy for me. You know, I heard those trains they built out to the desert, the ones that are going to connect to Xing? I heard they're _air-conditioned._" She nodded. "That's right. Let the foreigners have all the luxury-"

He could have interrupted to tell her that there were no foreigners on those trains; they ran only through Ishbal and the Ishbalites had no desire to ride a train out of their homeland for any reason.

"I'm going to stay with my sister in Bethan for a few days, haven't seen her in ages –god it's hot in here- Bethan's near Altenburg, you know, the town they say the Fullmetal Alchemist has turned up in-"

This perked his ears up a bit. Ed's return was supposed to be a secret, but the rumors had been flying for over a year now with no sight of settling down.

"But it's not him, I'll tell you that much. Met him, I did, the real one, years ago on a train. He saved us all from terrorists. Of course, _that _train had enough seats for all its passengers, and wasn't so ungodly hot, like this one. Short little thing, scrawny with blonde hair in a braid, not much when you look at him but powerful to those rebels, I'll tell you that much, and they were big men. Remember it clear as day."

He couldn't bite his tongue any longer. "Excuse me, but what makes you so sure the rumors aren't true?"

Her face lit up at the opportunity for a real audience, not just the general public in the standing room of the train. "_Well,_" she began enthusiastically, "I met the fake one too, I did, out west. Said he was the Fullmetal Alchemist, I said no way. Had a watch and everything, was using it for free room and board at an inn in my town, my very own town." She shook her head. "Never did a speck of alchemy, not him or that creepy companion of his either. Knew it wasn't him, he didn't have that giant suit of armor with him the way he did on the train. Powerful alchemy, that, to animate a suit of armor to follow you around and protect you, don't you think?"

Just then there was a horrible screeching sound, and the train lurched. The passengers in the standing room were thrown to one end of the car, the chattering woman landing on top of him. Havoc gripped the center pole tightly as he felt the car swing around, and covered his head to protect his face from the inevitable shattering of glass when the car slammed into something to its side, hard, and continued to drag another hundred feet or so on its side until it finally halted.

* * *

"Al, find out why the baby is crying," Winry directed as she jumped up from what she was doing to turn down the stove when the pot of spaghetti began to boil over.

Both brothers clamored over to the baby, Al picking her up and both of them cooing over her. "Give her to me, Al, she needs her diaper changed."

"No she doesn't, I just did that," Al insisted. "Kaiya, don't cry, okay? You just didn't like being over here alone, right? We're both here now, so everything is okay."

Kaiya instantly switched from fussing to babbling, grabbing at Al's face with her hand.

"Ed, you wanna get the plates down?" Winry called from the counter as she was pouring the spaghetti from the pot into the strainer, sending up a cloud of steam. With one hand she shook the water out of the strainer and with the other she grabbed Ed's flesh wrist as he reached up to the cabinet, snapping, "Use your other hand!"

He jerked angrily out of her grip and reached up again with the same hand.

"Ed!" she insisted.

"I'm not too good at picking stuff up yet," he said darkly.

"Well that's because you do everything one handed! Start using it more, and you'll get better at it!"

He drew his eyebrows down. "You said yourself that this one might not work as well as the other one-"

"I've run every possible test on you, it's fine!" she pressed. "I know you're used to doing everything with one hand but if you keep doing that-"

She was interrupted by the smashing of three plates on the kitchen floor, and the baby started crying again at the noise.

"Brother, what happened?" Al called from the other room.

"You did that on purpose," Winry accused.

"I did not! Don't yell at me, it was an accident, I _said _I wasn't any good at picking things up yet!"

"It was not an accident, I saw it on your face, you just reached up and knocked them over, you weren't even trying! You are _so _immature-"

"Hey, I'll have you know, I'm older than you by-"

"I don't care," she retorted. "I don't care how old you are, even Al's more mature than you and he's only eighteen-"

"I'm twenty one," Al said, hefting the baby on his hip. "Would you two cut it out," he added. "You both need to grow up, you've been fighting like this every day." He sat Kaiya in her highchair at the table and watched scornfully as Ed flopped down in the chair next to her as he bent down to begin picking up the pieces of the shattered plates.

After a moment Ed heaved a pointed sigh and said, "I'll get the broom."

Al held the dustpan as Ed swept up the last of the pieces, looking over at Winry, who was standing at the sink with her arms folded.

"How come it's spaghetti again tonight?" Ed demanded, emptying the dustpan into the trashcan. "How come you always make the same thing?"

Al laughed, trying to lighten the mood a little bit. "Winry only knows how to make three things, Ed, you know that."

Winry smacked the back of his head as he sat down again. "Quit complaining, Ed, you wanna cook?"

Ed just shrugged, reaching over and switching the radio on before picking up his fork to dish some spaghetti into his bowl. He passed the serving dish to Al, who set it down and switched the radio back to off. "Hey!" Ed protested.

"Between the two of you," Al told him, "Three of you," he amended when Kaiya screeched and banged on the table, "I'd really like to eat dinner in peace and quiet. Besides, all that's ever on the news any more is stuff about the terrorist bombings in Central."

Ed reached for the dial and turned it back on. "It's not just in Central anymore," he said seriously. The previous bickering was forgotten. "Someone's sabotaging the train tracks all over the country, I heard it this morning. A train derailed right outside of Bethan."

Al looked thoughtful. "That must be why General Mustang wants me back so urgently," he mused.

"Al!" Ed and Winry protested at the same time, and Al looked guilty.

"I have to go," he said sheepishly. "It's my job. Something's going on; they need me."

"When were you going to say something about it?" Winry demanded. "I thought you were on leave till the end of the month."

"When I was certain I couldn't get out of it," Al said grimly. "And I'm pretty sure I can't. Things are really serious in Central."

"I wish I could go with you," Ed said suddenly. "I miss being able to help out like that."

Winry glared at him. "Don't you dare," she warned him.

"I won't," he assured her. "I'm not healed yet anyway, not completely."

"But even when you are-"

"I know, I know," he said, waving away her concern. "Al's told me all about it. I'm a secret. No one can know I'm back." He raised an eyebrow. "A really _badly _kept secret," he added, "seeing how everyone in this town knows I'm here, and eventually someone's gonna come looking for me-"

"We'll deal with that when it happens," Al said firmly. "You're _not _coming to Central with me, Brother."

Ed sighed. "Yeah, I know. I'm staying here. I'm retired from alchemy anyway."


	12. Chapter Eight: The Sins of Indulgence

**Chapter Eight**: The Sins of Indulgence

"Brother, I _have _to go," Al said, laughing, trying to shake Ed off as he clung to his brother's side. "Let go, Ed, seriously," he said, trying in vain to make his voice more stern.

"But you're on _leave_," Ed whined. "You're supposed to be taking care of me!"

Al rolled his eyes. "You can take care of yourself just fine, you know that. Besides, Winry's here."

Ed relaxed his grip a little. "I know. I know I can, I just don't want you to go. Why can't you work at the base in Dillon, why do you have to work in Central?" he complained. "How did you and Winry ever do it, with you being gone all week? I don't even like you being gone for a day! How long until you come back, by the way?"

Al pushed his brother's hands off of himself. "I don't know," he said seriously. "I didn't get a very clear description of what's going on. I know it's classified, and I know they need me. They need _me, _specifically, as an alchemist, not just anyone. So, I have to go." He shrugged. "Its part of the deal, you know that, Brother."

Ed frowned. "Do I ever. Once the military's dog, always the military's dog. Don't do anything dangerous, promise me?"

Al sat down next to him. "I can't promise you that. You of all people should know I can't promise that. But I will promise you I'll come home as soon as I can."

The older brother nodded. "I wish I could go with you," he said. "What if something happens? What if you get in over your head, who's gonna back you up?"

"I'll have back up, don't worry so much! Whatever it is they need me to do, it wont be alone!" Al assured him. "Don't worry so much! I've been doing this for years, you know."

This only made Ed's expression sourer. "Yeah I know. You started when you were just a kid. You should have been going to school with all the rest of the kids and playing outside and chasing girls and stuff. You never got to just be a kid."

Al's expression sobered. "Neither did you, Brother," he reminded him. "I did it for you, you did it for me. And we turned out all right, don't you think?"

Ed looked into his younger brother's face and saw, not for the first time, the subtle changes that were taking place every day: the way his features were sharpening, his jaw line becoming more defined, his voice deepening slightly. "You turned out fine, Al."

* * *

She didn't wake up right away when she heard the sound, and when she did she was slow to recognize what it was and where it was coming from. When rather than stopping, it became louder and more alarming, she forced her mind into wakefulness, pushing herself up in bed and blinking in the darkness.

These were sounds she recognized from ever since That Day, ever since the Elric's lives had changed irreversibly and, by association, hers did too. It wasn't a sound she heard often, but once she was fully awake she knew exactly what was happening.

Snatching her robe from her door handle, she crept down the hall to the doorway of the other bedroom, and watched him tossing in the bed, his unintelligible cries tinged with fear. Cautiously, she entered the room, coming to stand over the bed.

"Ed," she said quietly, forcing some volume into her just-awoken voice. Her hand found the switch on the wall, and she let light flood the room. "Ed, wake up, it's a dream." Wary of being smacked by flailing metal limbs, as she remembered happening before, when they had both been children, she steeled herself and knelt on the edge of the bed, grasping him firmly by the shoulders and bringing her face close to him. "Edward," she said, with more force this time. "Wake up! Wake up, now!"

He jerked out of her hold, but sat up, his eyes wide open suddenly, gasping and choking, his body seeming to shudder. He looked at her for a second, and then curled in on himself, clutching his automail to his chest and letting out a muffled cry, his face pressed into the blankets bunched in his lap.

She scooted closer, alarmed at his display of pain, and wrapped a cautious arm around him. "Ed, what's wrong? Are you hurt?"

He remained curled in a ball in the center of the bed, not lifting his face, but he nodded, and Winry leaned down, lowering her voice now that she knew he was awake.

"What hurts? Your shoulder? Is the port irritated? What happened?"

"Nothing happened," he said into the blankets, his words blurring together. "It just hurts."

"What hurts?" she pressed.

He turned his face to the side but his eyes were squeezed shut. "My arm," he gasped out, and she frowned. This was new but not new. Ed had felt these phantom pains, in the limbs he no longer had, after she had installed his automail the first time as well. It was purely psychological, Granny had explained to her, but although that didn't make it any less painful it meant no amount of medicine would help. She and Al had tried to follow Granny's suggestion that they try to fool his mind into perceiving something comforting being done to the missing limb, and she tried that strategy now, rubbing her hands back and forth over the junction of flesh and steel, hoping the illusion would carry over as soothing to whatever part of his brain that registered pain in a limb long gone.

"I thought you were having a nightmare," she said quietly, not stopping, making sure her hands had equal contact with skin and metal.

"I was," he gritted out. "I thought the pain was part of the dream."

She wished Granny were there, only Granny knew when to tell Ed to suck it up and deal and when to just comfort him in his un-combatable pain. "Is this the first time this has happened?" she asked, her concern growing. What if it had something to do with the way she installed the wiring? What if she shifted one of his nerves, only slightly, not enough to even see it but enough to mix up the signals to his brain, enough to cause him pain where no pain should be possible? "Since the surgery, I mean," she amended.

He nodded, turning his face back into the blankets in his lap, and guilt began to press in on her.

She continued rubbing his shoulder. "Is this helping at all?"

He shook his head.

"Do you want me to stop?"

He shook his head again.

"Do you want me to get you a painkiller?" she asked hesitantly, but he shook his head at that too.

"What the hell for? I thought this was all in my head," he snapped, and she fell quiet, feeling as ineffective as she had when she was eleven years old, watching over the little boy in the patient bed in her home in Rizembool.

Sighing, she grabbed him around the chest and hauled him into a sitting position, climbing further onto the bed and positioning her legs on either side of him and rubbed her strong hands over both his shoulders, feeling the need to do something even if she knew it wasn't much. Outside the window was still pitch black, but in the silence of the still house she could hear the birds, and knew that it must be right before dawn, early morning, really, no longer late at night.

"Happens sometimes when I have these dreams," he mumbled, and when she didn't say anything, after a moment he continued. "Al always used to do this for me and it never helped, and then _he _tried to do this for me too. Nothing ever helps."

"Then maybe I should stop," she said again, but he shook his head.

Eventually he lay back down, and she kept a hand on his shoulder and lay down with him. She didn't offer to stay, but he didn't ask her to leave either, and eventually, after the sky had gone from dark grey to dingy white, they were both asleep again.

* * *

She woke up feeling the warm sun on her face, and pulled the covers tighter around herself and stretched her legs under the sheets, pressing her face into the pillows and snapping her eyes open when she felt her foot brush against steel. Feeling momentarily disoriented, she sat up half-way and looked over at Ed, surprised to see his eyes open and staring blankly up at the ceiling. Slowly, he blinked, and turned to face her. "You're awake," he said.

She sat up the rest of the way, looking around. It had been a while since she had slept in Al's room; she wasn't like the brothers, falling asleep somewhere different every night. "What time is it?" she asked, covering a yawn with the back of her hand.

Ed glanced over at the clock on the nightstand. "About seven," he said lazily, turning over and pulling the blankets with him. "Go back to sleep."

"Hey," she protested. "You took all the covers!"

"You're in _my_ bed," he retorted. "That makes them _my _covers, get your own."

"Ed," she whined, and smiled to herself as he shuffled the blankets and sheets around and tossed her fair share over to her, not moving from his curled up position on his side, facing away from her.

She drew the blankets up to her chin, closing her eyes again at watching the pattern the bright sun made against her eyelids. "You feeling better now?" she asked sleepily, and heard him rustle the covers a bit more.

"Yeah, thanks," he answered.

"I didn't do anything."

"I know."

She drifted back to sleep, and when she woke again she was alone in the bed. Ed was sitting on the window ledge in his pajamas, his hair tied back loosely and backlit by the sun, with Kaiya in his lap and a book balanced on one knee and a mug of coffee in his human hand. Kaiya had her face pressed against the window, her hands making little clouds of fingerprints all over the lower half of the glass. "Bur!" she squealed, and Ed nodded, not looking up from his book.

"Right," he said, "Birds." Winry sat up in the bed, and he looked over at her. "'Morning, Sleepyhead," he said with a smile, and she yawned again and stretched her arms over her head.

"You're the one who sleeps until one in the afternoon," she protested half-heartedly.

He just shrugged. "Not today I didn't," he informed her. Then he gulped down the rest of his coffee, reaching over to set the mug on the nightstand, flipped his book closed and stood up, picking Kaiya up with him and plopping her on the bed next to Winry. "Here," he told her, "Play with Mommy, I need to get dressed," and with that he pulled off his pajama top and began sorting through his drawers for a clean shirt.

"Ed, did you give her breakfast?" she asked.

"Yep," he said, not turning around as he pulled a plain black t-shirt over his head.

"Y'do your exercises?"

"Yep."

"Did _you _eat breakfast?" she asked then, standing up and picking Kaiya up with her.

"Bur!" Kaiya announced, pointing to the window.

"Birds?" Winry asked her, walking over to the window. "I don't see any birds."

"Bur, bur!" her daughter insisted.

Winry put her down on the ground, holding her hands up above her head and walking with her, and said, "Come on, baby, we're going downstairs to make Mommy and Ed some breakfast."

"I made you breakfast," Ed called from inside the bedroom. "It's downstairs on a plate, under the frying pan lid."

* * *

Winry sat at her kitchen table, contemplating a forkful of lukewarm, syrup-drenched pancakes, wondering why every morning the three of them spent together couldn't be like this. Maybe, slowly, they were resolving the tensions that had been present between the two of them ever since Ed had re-appeared in this world nearly two years ago now. Slowly, she was able to convince herself that while she did love him, she had never been _in_ love with him; when she was young and heartbroken she had merely _thought _she was in love with him, and she was learning to ignore that voice that told her she never had any trouble knowing exactly what she wanted and demanding to know why things should be any different now.

Ed's pancakes were better than hers. Al had been exaggerating, there were slightly more thanthree things she could cook: spaghetti, pancakes, and tuna-noodle casserole was only about half of her list After her grandmother died she had told herself she would be fine living on her own; she would feed herself with the recipes from Granny's cookbooks, but things never tasted quite right. Always like something was missing.

Except the pancakes. Winry's pancakes were exactly like Granny's. But, she conceded, taking another bite, Ed's were better. Whether the recipe was Trisha's or Izumi's or someone from that other world's, she assumed she would never know. She was through with trying to pry into the secrets of his past; it was too painful to watch him take on that faraway, forlorn, _regretful _look.

After the last bite she stood, pushing her chair away from the table, and put her plate in the sink. She grabbed the shopping list off the refrigerator and headed out to the porch to find Ed and ask him if he would mind going grocery shopping later in the day. Walking to and from the market would be good for him; he was nearly adjusted to the new automail but his stamina was still lacking.

Winry stood in the doorway looking out onto the porch and smiling. He was sitting, bent over the small table, scribbling furiously on the large roll of paper. It was going to be a complete set of plans for this "airplane" he had told her of. Of course, they would never actually build one, how could they, but he was making good on his promise to explain to her how they worked.

She didn't know why she did it. Maybe things can only go smoothly for so long, or maybe it was because he looked so intent on what he was doing, so _Ed, _that she just couldn't help herself.

As soon as her lips brushed his cheek his metal hand seized her wrist, the joints between the fingers slicing into her skin. "Cut that the fuck out," he snarled.

"What is wrong with you?" she snapped back, instantly regretting her action.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" he retorted, eyes flashing. "Do I look like Al? Or did you forget which brother is your boyfriend?"

"No, I- I'm sorry, I didn't mean-" she faltered, trying in vain to diffuse the situation.

He slammed the pen down on the table. "Well what did you mean, then?" he demanded.

"You just- you looked so _content_ like that, concentrating-"

"I _was," _he said darkly, "Until you started this fucking game up again!"

"It's not a game!" she protested, trying to be honest. "You just looked- I don't know. You looked like you_."_

He scowled. "I always look like me, I hope," he said dryly.

"Handsome?" she amended.

"Bullshit," was his clipped response. "You're beautiful, but that doesn't mean I go around kissing you whenever the mood strikes me."

She threw her hands up, not facing him, looking out over the railing at the street. "It was a friendly kiss, Ed, we _are _friends, remember?"

"Bullshit," he repeated from behind her. "What the fuck is a friendly kiss? Would you have done that if Al was sitting right here?"

She whirled around, staring at him for a long minute, hands on her hips. "Yes," she said finally. "Yes I would, because we both know it didn't mean anything, just like the night you came home didn't mean anything, just like the night before your surgery didn't mean anything."

He gaped at her. "Didn't mean anything?" he echoed hollowly, the anger dropping from his voice.

"You don't like women," she continued, speaking to his stunned expression. "You know it, I know it, Al knows it. There's nothing wrong with that. So I can give you a friendly kiss if I want," she said, all the while echoing his own words in her mind, _what the fuck is a friendly kiss _anyway? A "friendly kiss" is feeling so comfortable around someone that you start to forget they don't want the same things as you do, she told herself, feeling the situation slip out of her control as she spoke.

His mouth hung open; he stared at her. She stood with her back to the sun, her hair catching its glow but her face in the shadows. "I never said that," he protested. "I never said I don't like women."

Her hands were on her hips again, and she glared at him. "So it's just me you don't like," she said, making her voice angry and insulted and threatening because she couldn't bring herself to sound sorry. "Thanks, Ed, that makes me feel real great." She swept past him, jerking the front door open, intending to disappear inside again before he demanded a further explanation, but he grabbed her around the waist, pulling her close to him, pressing his body against hers.

His face was so close to hers, she could see the veins in his forehead twitching, she could feel what she thought must be anger emanating from his being. "What," he said harshly, "did I ever do to give you that idea?" Her eyes were wide open, and stayed open in shock when he smashed his lips into hers, metal hand tight around her waist and the flesh one coming up to push its fingers through the back her hair. This was no friendly kiss, this was no misunderstanding of emotions!

She shut her eyes, feeling his tongue force her lips apart, pushing into her mouth, and let him kiss her, pressing her own tongue into his, taking in his taste. Her eyes flew open. Was it possible to kiss someone this way if you had no feelings for them? Was it possible to lie to yourself for nearly two years just to make things easier, just to keep from facing the inevitable, just to keep from making a choice?

The kiss surged on; he turned this way and that, prying into every part of her, moving to kiss her throat, her eyes, the place behind her ear, everywhere, breathless, wanting. When he broke away he stumbled backward, mirroring her shocked expression. "You are the _only _woman I've ever looked at," he said, his voice catching in his throat. "And you let my brother think you're in love with him. How great do you think that makes _me _feel?"

"I am in love with him," she said breathlessly.

"Then quit fucking with my head like that!" he raged, swiping at the drawings he had been working on, letting them flutter to the floor and stomping down the rickety outside stairs.

She stared numbly at his retreating back.

* * *

Al went first to the site of the train wreck in Bethan, displaying his State Alchemist watch unnecessarily to the local police. He was traveling out of uniform, as he normally did, and he was without his trademark red coat, but nearly everyone in the north knew who he was.

"Ah, Lieutenant Colonel Elric," the man said, holding a hand out to shake, and Al took it. "We were hoping the military would send you, even though we're such a small town and I'm sure you have much more important things to be doing-"

Al smiled at him engagingly. "I'm from a small town myself, sir," he said, always polite. "But aren't there military investigators here already?"

"Yes, sir, they arrived this morning, aren't you…" the man faltered, his voice trailing off.

"I would appreciate it," he said, keeping his voice low, "if you did not tell them I'm here. I'd like copies of the accident report, if you please, and then I'll be on my way."

"The chief investigator has the report at this moment, sir, but I'm sure you can find him-"

"He has the only document? Were there no copies made?" Al pressed.

The man motioned for Al to follow him inside, and after a few minutes of inquiries handed him a hand-copied duplicate of the report. Al slipped it into his briefcase, thanking the man, and turned to head back to the train station.

"Lieutenant Colonel!" the man called after him, and Al turned. The man walked swiftly after him, standing with him in the vestibule of the building. "It may be forward of me, sir, but I am assuming that you suspect the investigators will leave here with what they believe is the only copy of the report." Al opened his mouth to protest, but the man held up his hand. "Don't look at me like that, we've all heard about the rumors of corruption in the military and alterations of records. Something wasn't right about that wreck, it was more than a terrorist attack and we know it. Now you yourself are leaving with what really is the only copy of the report, assuming the original wont be returned." The man looked at him questioningly, brazenly. "We like to keep our files in order, here, sir."

"Oh, your files will be in order," Al told him, his voice low. "You won't have anything missing. But you're right, you shouldn't expect to get the original report back." With that he gave the doors a push and had disappeared down the sidewalk. The chief of police shook his head. The right hand of the government didn't seem to know what the left was doing, apparently. He wished he had thought to order a third copy of the report, but how was he to have known the military would send both hands in to disturb his files?

Al turned swiftly when he heard the voice behind him. "Little Boss!"

* * *

"Excuse me, sir," said a tiny voice behind him, and Ed turned on the platform, feeling his ponytail swish across his back at the sharp movement. There were two children standing behind him, one of them tugging on his coattails.

He raised an eyebrow to them, and they giggled.

"Can I have your autograph?" the taller (older?) one said boldly, and Ed's eyes widened. _My presence here is a secret, my ass! _he thought to himself briefly, before he took the paper and pen from the child and paused just after the first down stroke of the E. "What are you going to do with it?" he asked curiously, trying to be certain the kids hadn't mistaken him for Al or something.

"It's for my Fullmetal Alchemist poster, for school!" the smaller one piped up, and Ed's eyes widened further.

_Edward Heiderich, _he scrawled before he could change his mind. "I'm not the Fullmetal Alchemist, you know," he told them firmly, and they nodded as if they had just been given a huge secret.

"Can we see your automail?" they begged, and he looked around at the small crown on the station platform. Part of him itched to show off. Forcing some restraint, he lifted his sleeve and showed them his metal forearm. "Oooo," they admired.

"All right now, enough of this," he said, pulling his sleeve back down again. "I'm waiting for someone very important, where are _you_ supposed to be?"

The two children exchanged guilty glances and ran off, just as the whistle sounded in the distance signaling the incoming train.

When Al stepped onto the platform he obliged his older brother with a hug but scolded, "You shouldn't be out here in public, people are going to see us together and-"

Ed held his brother at arms length, surveying his appearance to make sure he had returned in one piece. He had. "Al, I've already been asked for my autograph. Everyone here knows who I am."

Al smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand as Ed snatched his suitcase from him, swinging it around in a wide arc before linking arms with him and pulling him down the stairs of the platform. "Have you been showing off?" he accused, not even knowing where the accusation came from. When was the last time he had seen his brother in show-off mode? Not since they were kids, not that he could remember.

"Ahh, you know me too well," Ed said with a grin, allowing his brother to fear the worst.

Al fortuitously changed the subject. "How's Winry, how's the baby?" he asked smoothly, watching as his and his brother's feet met the pavement exactly in time, perfectly in step.

"Baby's a genius, Winry's a bitch, nothing new!" Ed quipped.

"_Brother!"_ Al exploded. "What _is _it with you and Winry, every time I'm not here you two fight!" The air between them caught a sudden chill and Al found himself wondering, not for the first time, if it really was an argument that had happened or if it was something else entirely.

"It's what we do, Al," Ed said, but his voice was strained. "We've done it since we were kids. You're much better suited for her."

"You think?" Al said coldly, and they walked the rest of the way home in silence.

Winry was sitting on the front porch, various metal foot and toe pieces spread out over a cloth on the small table, and Kaiya's face lit up when she saw them walking up the street. "Da da da da!" she called. Al scooped her up and tossed her in the air, his eyes dancing as he listened to her shriek with delight. It didn't escape him how his brother and Winry locked eyes for a moment before Ed stomped into the house, slamming the door behind him.

When he climbed the stairs to his bedroom he found that Ed had already begun unpacking his suitcase for him. As he unbuttoned his uniform jacket he said, keeping his tone conversational, "You know, some people would say I'm crazy to trust you two together." He shrugged out of the jacket and hung it on its sturdy hanger on the back of the door and began undoing his regulation military belt. "I'd tell them I'd be crazy not to trust you, after all, you are my brother," he slid the belt out of its loops and raised his eyes to Ed, "and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me, right?"

"Al, I never-" Ed started.

"Right?" Al repeated, his voice steady, his eyes calm.

"Of course, Al."

* * *

There was something soothing about the way he could delight Kaiya with the same thing over and over again. _She'll grown out of it, enjoy it while it lasts, _he told himself, and basked in her excitement every time she threw her pile of flowers on the ground and then lined them up, then picked them up one by one and made an orderly bundle of them.

"One!" she would say, picking up the first one, and "two!" when she picked up the second one. "No, no!" she would say for the third and fourth, but the fifth she would hold up triumphantly and declare, "five!"

Ed crouched beside Kaiya, taking the bundle of wildflowers she was playing with in his hand and setting them in the grass in front of them. "Want to see something magic?" he asked her, and she grinned, nodding, her grey eyes lighting up with delight.

He paused for a minute, hardly thinking about it at all, and brought his hands together in a _clap _and touched them to the flowers, and there was a flash of blue alchemic energy and when it faded, he was holding a woven crown with flowers for jewels. As he held on to it, the small flowers grew, their petals becoming thinner and broader and more brightly colored, and Kaiya clapped her own hands and shrieked with delight. "Da da da da!" she babbled, and he laid the crown on her pale hair and grinned at her.

"Don't you look like a princess," he said fondly.

"Da da," she repeated, and he frowned.

"Say 'Ed,'" he instructed. "Call me 'Ed,' call Al 'Dada," he told her seriously, feeling his stomach sink.

"Da da," she said again, looking at him with round, serious eyes that reminded him for all the world of Winry's. Then she took the flowers from her own head and placed them crookedly on his. "Fowrs!" she announced.

He sighed and leaned back on his heels. "That's right," he told her, forcing a bright tone into his voice. "Flowers."

"Brother?" came Al's voice from inside. "Are you and Kaiya-" his head appeared in the doorway and he snickered. "Nice flowers," he commented.

"Fowrs!" Kaiya repeated, then "Da da da da!"

Al reached down and picked her up, and she protested, reaching out towards the flower crown on Ed's head. "Fowrs!" she insisted, and Ed laughed and took it off, handing it to her. "Mommy fowrs," she said happily, waving the crown around.

"Okay," Al said, nodding. "We'll give Mommy the flowers, come on, lets go inside- Brother?" he added, watching his face carefully. "Are you all right?"

Ed had suddenly become focused on something only he could see. "Yeah," he said distantly.

"Coming inside?" Al asked, his eyebrows raised.

"In a minute."

After shooing Kaiya inside, Al crouched down next to his brother. "What's wrong?" he asked softly. "Where did your mind go this time?"

Ed rested his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand, staring at the place where the flowers had been and thinking of somewhere else entirely: the yard of a mansion in Central, in the dead of winter, when he had shown another little girl how alchemy took wishes and made them come true. He had been only twelve years old then, and she couldn't have been more than a few years older than Kaiya was now. He had cried when she died, and once a few days after, in the middle of the night, when no one but his brother was around to hear. "It doesn't matter," he said hollowly, pressing his hands on his knees and standing up. "No one remembers her anymore."

"Remembers who?" Al questioned, puzzled.

"Nina Tucker."

_Shou Tucker's daughter, the lifeless doll, _Al wanted to say, but he had never known her as a real person, not that he could remember, so he said nothing. "Did you make those flowers?" he asked instead.

Ed nodded. He made them with a clap of his hands, the way he made and changed so many things in the old days, before he knew the true price. Before he knew that the energy didn't come from his own soul but from the souls of those on the other side.

"Alchemy isn't a sin, Brother," Al said quietly, standing next to him but not looking at him.

"It should be," Ed said with resignation, turning to go in side. "It should be."

* * *

Al was tired. He was tired, and for the first time since the war ended he was truly worried. Something was going on and no matter what the military did, it couldn't be stopped. General Mustang had always seemed to him as a man who knew everything. You never knew just how but you always knew he did. General Hawkeye seemed like a woman who could handle everything without batting an eye. Now, Mustang was worried; Al could see it in his face when he thought no one was watching. And Hawkeye was flustered.

Something was very wrong and there was nothing he or any of them could do but watch things slowly crumble. They had to be ready, they told each other in hushed tones. Something was about to happen, and when it did, they had to spring into action.

When Al stepped off the train in Altenburg the sky was a pure, high blue and the air seemed to fairly shimmer with sunlight, but the platform was empty. Ed had not come to meet him the way he had been doing ever since Al had gone back to work. He felt his stomach flip: had something happened?

Breathing deeply, he told himself he was just worried about work. And when your work is ensuring the safety of the country you and everyone you care about lives in, your stomach's gonna flip a lot. Nothing was wrong. Yet.

He just needed to see his brother, to look into those golden eyes and hear that familiar voice telling him that everything was going to be okay. Neither of them would believe it, but it would help none the less. His steps quickened as he walked down the sidewalk to his and Winry's house.

Al frowned when he pushed the door open. It had been ajar; how many times had he told the two of them to lock the door? Altenburg was a small town, but leaving the door unlocked was just asking for trouble. "Hello?" he called out, and was met with silence. He sighed. They must have taken Kaiya and went out or something. Now that the weather was warm and Kaiya was walking, they liked to make a habit of taking her to the town square to play in the fountain, in hopes that she would start to play with the other children in the town.

He dropped his suitcase in the living room and opened the fridge, letting the cool air blow on his closed eyelids for a moment. Then he took out Winry's green pitcher and looked around guiltily before he took several gulps of the sweet lemonade directly out of the top. Smiling as if he had fooled the universe, he replaced the pitcher and closed the door, picking up his suitcase and heading towards his room. He tossed it on the bed, unlatching it and taking out the book he had picked up for his brother in Central and setting it on the nightstand where Ed could find it. Then he picked up the box he had gotten for Winry and made his way to her room, thinking he would leave it on her nightstand as well, letting her find it at her leisure.

He stopped in the doorway.

He blinked.

He wasn't even surprised.

He blinked again.

He was so not surprised he wasn't even angry.

The window was open and the curtains were pushed back, spilling that beautiful sunlight in a window-pane pattern right over the couple in the bed, laying on top of the covers, fully clothed, limbs intertwined like they were one person.

Al blinked once more.

Ed stirred, burrowing his face for a moment further into Winry's shoulder and then turned, stretching his arms over his head and opening his eyes. He gave his brother a sleepy smile. "Hi Al," he said.

He might as well have slapped him in the face, and Al took a step back as if he had. "You're not even sorry?" Al said, meaning to snap, to say it bitingly, but it came out weak and shocked.

"Sorry, we fell asleep," Ed said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and glancing over at Winry.

Al smacked his hand to his forehead. "I'm such an idiot," he muttered, leaning the back of his head into the door, looking up. Then he turned his smoldering eyes on his brother. "You fell asleep," he repeated, the words dropping to the floor with the weight of bricks.

Ed was beginning to look worried. "Al, we weren't- we were just sleeping, nothing-"

Al shook his head, his expression darkening further. "I know, I believe you." He did, and it made him feel all the worse. It was right in front of him, all this time. Every time he looked at them he saw it: something between them that he and Winry just didn't share. It was impossible to hide, and they must think he was an idiot to have even tried.

"_You lied to me!" _ he cried, and the long day, the long week, the frustrations at work and the frustrations at home and the tensions that had been resonating between the three of them for the past year and a half burned behind his eyes, pushing tears to well up and threaten to splash down his cheeks. He heard his voice crack, wavering between octaves in a way it hadn't done in years, and was furious with his body for not being how old he wanted it to be. "'I don't want to come between you,' you said!" he accused. "'I don't want to hurt you.' 'I want you to be happy,'"

Winry had jumped out of the bed as soon as Al's voice had woken her up. "Al," she began desperately, "It's not-"

"Don't you tell me what it is and isn't," he said harshly, turning his stormy eyes on her.

"But I-"

"You're in love," Al spat. "You've always been in love with him," he said, watching her face, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping. "You tell me that isn't true," he challenged her.

"I-" she had to force herself to maintain eye contact with him, not allowing herself the luxury of looking away. "I can't," she said, finally, quietly, firmly.

"You," he said to Ed, jabbing his finger into his chest, "are disgusting!" he shouted, and Ed blinked his gold eyes in shock.

"Al, I-"

"Don't look at me like that, you know what you are! You've been lying to me all this time like I was some kind of idiot, like I didn't matter, like I was just some kid who didn't know any better-"

Ed stood, locking eyes with his brother. He shook his head fiercely. "Don't start that again," he insisted. "I don't think you're a kid, and I haven't-"

"I wish you had never come back!" Al screamed.

"I wish I had never come back," Ed countered.

"Stop it!" Winry yelled, louder than them both, her eyes blazing and her hair flying around her face, flinging her arms out and giving them both a solid whack across the chest. "You stop this, both of you, you don't mean that, you don't!"

"I mean it," Al said at once, no longer screaming, his voice deadly serious.

"I mean it too," Ed said sharply.

"Al, stop it," Winry pleaded.

He turned on her, throwing his hands up. "Why? Why should I stop? Why should I keep up this ridiculous game a second longer? I'm sick of loving you both so much I'm willing to play dumb!" His voice took on that eerie, quiet, frightening tone once more. "You don't belong here, Ed. One of us should have died. I turned up alive again, alone, and I learned to live with that-"

_But you didn't, Al, _Ed protested silently. _Neither of us could live without the other._

"And now you're here, and you _don't belong._" He flung his arm out, gesturing wildly towards Winry's bed, the covers still rumpled. "You don't belong in her bed! You don't belong in _my _bed! You don't belong _anywhere _in this house!" With each sentence his voice rose, cracking again, and his face grew redder and his eyes grew wilder.

"If you didn't want me here," Ed said angrily, "you should have thought twice before you risked your life and mine to pull me out of Germany and back into this world that _is my world, _so you shut the hell up about me not belonging here. I was born here and I'm here now and there's no going back to the way things were!"

Al spun to face the wall, avoiding looking at them both as he continued, throwing his hands above his head. "Oh but I bet you wish you could go back, back to that other Alphonse," he said meanly, words and feelings he had forced himself to push away now tumbling forth before he could stop them, "so you two could play house, play _lovers,_ you sick fuck, what kind of sick person would sleep with his own _brother-"_

"He wasn't you, Al!" Ed pleaded, his eyes red, desperate. "He wasn't you, I swear!"

"Oh, he was me," Al said frighteningly, turning around again, looking his brother straight in the eye. "I met him, remember? I know who he was. He was lonely, he was miserable, he was- and you- you- _how _could you do that?"

Winry followed back and forth between the brothers with her large eyes, saying nothing. She could hear Kaiya starting to cry in the other room, and knew the cry would escalate into a scream if no one came, but she couldn't look away. She couldn't stop them but she couldn't leave them either.

"What ever happened to you, Edward Elric, to make you think you can just help yourself to everything? All you do is take, take, take! You meet this poor soul who's just another version of me, and you, you, I don't _know _what you did and I don't want to know and it's sick, Ed, it's sick, but I said nothing because I love you and you're my brother and he thought you loved him and he never knew what he really was to you until I came along-"

"But he wasn't you," Ed repeated urgently. "He was his own person, and I did love him, and-" Ed felt his body slamming back into the wall, and brought his hand up to his mouth in surprise. Al had punched him in the face, a full out punch, not something he could just bounce back from the way he had when they were kids. This wasn't play fighting, this was real.

"If you _loved _him, then what are you doing with _her?_" he screamed, flinging his arms in a gesture towards the door where Winry was standing, staring, haven given up on stopping them. "How many people do you need to love you before it's enough?" he demanded, his voice dropping to that frightening quiet. "How selfish can you get before you're sick of yourself?"

"Al," Ed said, his voice breaking, "Everything I did, those whole ten years, every thing I did was just to get back to you-"

"And what did you do the minute you got back?" Al asked roughly, and Ed forced himself not to look away.

"She didn't tell me!" he said, what he had said many times, and echoed Al's gesture towards Winry as if she were a statue, a mere representation of herself incapable of defending or apologizing for her own choices.

"_She's _been in love with you all this time, _she _never lied to me about that, and _you've_ been in love with _him_ all this time so what the hell do you want with her but more, more, more?" The sight of his brother holding his hand to his bleeding lip only enraged him further. "The universe doesn't belong to you, Ed. You can't just have everything you want, you can't just decide to make up your own right and wrong and you know it, deep down I know you know it and you _hate _being wrong. You hate being wrong so much you burned down our house so it wouldn't remind you of it, you hate being wrong so much you gave up your own life to bring me back so you wouldn't have to live with the consequences, you hate being wrong so much you convinced yourself that other Alphonse wasn't me and you, you-"

"All right!" Ed screamed. "All right, I was wrong, all right, I never get anything right, all right, I hate myself for it, is that what you want to hear? I hate myself? I've fucked it all up? Everything I touch turns to shit? You're right, I _don't _belong here, you're right, it'd be better if I'd never come back at all. Is that what you want?"

"I _wanted _my brother back but instead I got this sick bastard who's just like dad and collects people's hearts and breaks them-" _and it's my heart you're breaking Ed, mine, can't you see that, with every word you scream, every time you say you hate yourself _but he couldn't stop the words from coming. "You _should _hate yourself, you're everything you never wanted to be!"

He waited for the next volley of protests, of curses, of excuses, but they never came. _I take it back, _he cried inside, but not every part of him cried it and no part of him reached out to stop his brother from flinging the door open but when Winry moved to go after him he pulled her back sharply by the shoulders. Her huge, wet blue eyes stared into his for nearly a minute before she jerked out of his grip and grabbed him around the waist, shoving him forcefully out of the room and into the hall, pointing down the stairs to the front door, which was already wide open.

"Go after him, you asshole!" she said menacingly before she slammed her door in his face.

It was her room, not hers and Al's room. Her room had always been her own and she could throw him out if she wanted. She flung open the window and stuck her head out forcefully, her balance almost wavering. She watched Ed storming down the street, and even now her mechanic's eye watched his gait and how he still favored his flesh leg, just slightly, but that it certainly wasn't hindering his progress.

It wasn't like he packed a suitcase or anything. He would get halfway across town and then come back, at least for the night, and they would work things out, how could they not? He wasn't really leaving. How could he leave? His brother was his entire life, his brother was his entire reason for being here-

She waited for Al to go running after him, she waited to watch from her window the tearful resolutions, but all she saw was Ed, Ed storming away, Ed getting smaller and smaller and Ed getting lost among the buildings in downtown Altenburg.

She listened, but all she could hear was Kaiya's screaming. Maybe Al would get her, she thought numbly, and when he didn't, she kept her eyes trained on the sidewalk at the front of the house, waiting for him to go after his brother. The sun was starting to set, and the shadows of the buildings were growing long and when Ed came back his shadow would be nearly three times his size, and she leaned a little further out the window.

When it was dark, when the sky was deep blue-black and the town was quiet for the evening and Kaiya had cried herself out (because Winry had been listening and Al had not come back upstairs, so he could not have gone to her) she finally felt the weight of the silence pressing in on her mind, and her heart ached. It ached for Al, who had tried vainly to accept this disaster that had been dumped on him the day he woke up with no memories. It ached for Ed, who- oh, her heart had always ached for Ed in some way, but this was something new and old. It ached for the man who had lost everything and somehow managed to lose even more. It ached for her daughter who had been born into a country on the verge of a civil war and into a family that was falling apart at the seams it never had.

Ed had always believed in the impossible. Al believed in the impossible, and that was one of the things she loved so much about him. Winry held onto reality like it was the only certainty left in the world, and the harsh reality was that you couldn't be both friends and lovers. The universe wasn't made that way.

She shook her head, jerked herself back inside the window. That was a kind of heartbreak she wasn't prepared to deal with. She hadn't allowed herself to choose yet, and she wasn't going to choose now.

She let her heart fall back into the old, aching loneliness of missing someone, and pulled the familiar record out of its sleeve, flopping backwards on the bed and wishing it was her old bed in her home in Rizembool, and instead of listening for her daughter through the walls she was listening for her grandmother.

_That's the Ed song, _she could hear twelve-year-old Al say in her mind, banging on her bedroom door. _You're playing the Ed song!_


	13. Zwischenziet IV: If You Leave, Don't Loo

b If you leave, don't look back... /b 

i Dear Alphonse,

When I heard you were hurt you have no idea how worried I was; fortunately by the time your mother was able to give me the news you were already well again but it frightened me all the same. It's been entirely too long since we've seen each other and I'm so sorry to hear about the death of your friend; I know how difficult it is to lose someone you love. It can take a life time to get used to the feeling of being alone. Unfortunately I wont be able to make it to Hirligen for the holidays this year because I have been planning a trip to Greece with some friends from my University days, but I'd hate to miss seeing you.

Is there any way you'd be able to visit me here in Frankfort? Or should I find a time to visit you? I just hate that the older we get the less we see each other; after all, you were always my favorite cousin and it was too long without seeing one another even before you were hurt.

Hopefully seeing you soon,

Your cousin Stephanie /i 

It was no trouble getting the time off of work. As excited as the team of scientists had been to get Alphonse back in the lab, he hadn't been much more than a disappointment. His mind was just as brilliant as ever, but the drive was gone. His ambition was a mere shadow of what the lab was like when he and Ed headed up their own project. Now that spark that meant the shining search for knowledge only showed up when Al was talking about ancient theories, occult sciences, old and disproved research and what the other scientists could only dismiss as "crazy talk."

Other dimensions?

Alchemy?

Using souls as energy?

It wasn't a matter of intelligence, they all agreed. Yes, it was a frightening head injury their colleague had sustained, but it didn't affect his intelligence. It was worse than that.

It was his perception of reality.

hr 

The train compartment was hot and stuffy and it was cramped; he had been unable to find a car with even one extra seat and he balanced his research on his knees, scribbling furiously, not caring that he looked the part of a mad man to the other travelers. When he finally arrived in Frankfort he was pale, his light hair untidy and his shirt collar undone. He exited the train with his papers still clutched in his fist and scanned the platform for the familiar figure of his tall, loud cousin.

He laughed out loud when he saw her. She wore a ridiculously tiny green hat and carried an equally ridiculous green purse, and she stood by the wall in front of the train schedules jumping and waving her hand in the air. "Alphonse," she greeted him, smiling, placing a hand on either side of his face. "I'd hug you but you need a shower," she said bluntly.

He smiled back at her and shrugged. "I can't argue with you, that train was like an oven." Before they could exchange their usual banter she had hailed a cab and was pushing him gently towards it, and he gallantly opened the door for her.

"Ah, such a gentleman!" she said playfully, and leaned forward to give directions to the driver.

"You cut your hair off," he said, noticing it for the first time.

She ran a hand over the back of her neck, grinning. "American fashion," she told him. "Soon everyone will be doing it."

Al merely raised his eyebrows.

Stephanie rolled her eyes dramatically. "Really, you should stop holding it against the Americans just because they launched the first rocket." She wasn't prepared for the harsh glare she received; she had been trying to joke with him. "Al, relax, I'm just teasing you," she said, trying to make her voice soothing and less alarmed than she felt. "You aren't really angry, come on!"

"Forget it," he mumbled.

They didn't speak much for the duration of the cab ride, and he followed her silently up the stairs to her home. "Dad's sleeping," she told him quietly as she unlocked the door. "All he does these days," she added. "I doubt he even remembers you, but you can say hi if you want."

Alphonse just shrugged in response.

She flung a door open to the right of the stairs. "Here, you've got Berdy's room, lord knows he wont be sleeping here again."

"Thanks," he mumbled in response, setting his suitcase inside the door.

"Hey," she said softly, grabbing his arm above the elbow. "I didn't make you mad, did I? Al?"

He gave a heavy sigh, and turned to face her. "No," he said finally. "I'm just being an ass. Sorry about that."

She raised her eyebrows, then gave him a friendly punch to the shoulder. "Fine then," she said quietly. "Go get presentable, I'm prepared to entertain you all day."

hr 

He could feel it coming. He could feel it in the air between them even as they went sight seeing, even while they stopped for shaved ice, even while they leaned over the railing of the pedestrian bridge and stared down at the water.

"Al, are you all right?"

He knew that question. That question was the only reason she had asked him here. Because no matter how many times he answered it, no matter how many people he told 'I'm fine,' it would only come again and again. And he was sick of it.

Her voice was soft when she asked it, not her usual loud, abrasive tone but something quieter, more still. She was leaning over the railing swinging her horrible green purse over the water, and when she turned her head to look up at him her green hat slid down over one ear.

It slid a little further and dropped off her head, into his outstretched palm waiting to catch it before it tumbled down into the Main. "I'm fine," he said neutrally, keeping ahold of her awful little hat and watching her ruffle her now-short dark hair.

"You're not fine," she said insistently, making no move to retrieve her hat.

He stood up from leaning over the rail, flinging his hands out to his sides. "What do you want me to say? You of all people? How 'fine' am I supposed to be?"

"You're not," she said quickly, her voice dripping with understanding that made him seethe. "You can't be, you won't ever be, you-"

"You don't understand any of this!" he cried. He wasn't yelling, he hardly ever yelled and he wasn't angry with her. He was just frustrated with the constant attempts to comfort him coming from everywhere he turned.

"But Al, I i do /i understand, of course I understand-" she said, clutching his arm.

" i No you don't /i ," he insisted darkly, flopping back down over the railing. "Just let me get over this on my own, okay? Can't we just enjoy these couple days together with out you picking me to pieces?"

"You're not going to get over this," she said softly, not looking at him, looking down at the brown water.

He turned his head sideways, his pale hair flopping down over his eyes, her stupid hat twisting in his hands.

"Steph," he said slowly. "Just stop. You don't even know what it is I'm trying to get over."

She continued to look at him steadily, sympathy and empathy rising up in her eyes.

"I miss my brother," he said then, and tried not to cringe when she wrapped her arms around him.

i Don't you see it? /i he thought at she pressed his head into her shoulder. i Don't you see the true problem here? /i 

If his brother had been around, if his brother hadn't run off to London years ago, he wouldn't have been drawn to Edward Elric in the first place, he wouldn't have needed him because he would have had his own Ed.

She let go of him, holding him at arms length and studying him hard for a moment as if she was about to say something else but thinking better of it. "We're going to the pub tonight," she said instead, grabbing her hat back and turning around, leaning back on the railing and watching the pedestrians pass. "You're going to meet my friends."

hr 

The evening had been somewhat of a blur to him. He hadn't been drinking in a long while, not since before the crash, and he could swear the first sip of his beer went directly to his head. He sat back in the corner, watching his drink carefully as if it was the most important thing in the room. There was a man there, several years older than himself, who paid a particular amount of attention to his cousin, and he suddenly understood her attitude. Of course she was convinced that everyone can get over the loss of a loved one and move on.

He had never seen her cry over her fiancé. He had seen her cry over a scraped knee, but they had been kids then. All he knew was what her mother had told his mother, that she had locked herself in her room for nearly a week, and when she emerged she refused to talk about his death. It wasn't until years later that she would even mention him, but she never took off the ring he gave her.

Now Alphonse couldn't recall whether she was still wearing it, he hadn't noticed because he hadn't thought to look. The bar had a small dance floor and he could see them together, moving to the slow song and looking into each other's eyes. No wonder she was convinced he should be able to move on. But it had taken her more than a decade. His cousin was almost thirty, he realized with a start.

"What are you thinking about?" inquired another one of her friends, another man, and he shrugged.

"Time," he answered quietly, lifting the glass and finishing it off.

"Buy you another?" the man offered, his eyes twinkling, and before Al could react another beer was in front of him.

His balance may have been shaky and his vision blurry, due to alcohol or depression or just plain thinking too much, but he felt like his perception was amazingly clear. He watched the man who had bought him the drink, he watched his cousin with her friend or her boyfriend or whoever he was, he forgot everyone's name but he understood one thing. His cousin had invited this friend for him.

She knew Edward had been his lover. And she was trying to replace him.

He slammed his drink down on the table and his cousin and her friends looked at him, startled. "Just because you've convinced yourself it's okay for you," he said angrily, "doesn't mean everyone is the same. I'm not like you. I still love him!"

She gaped at him, her eyes wide with shock and concern, and he pushed his chair aside and sent it tumbling as he stood up. He didn't know if she understood what he meant; he wasn't even sure himself of what he meant half the time.

"Alphonse," she called after him, but he was storming unsteadily through the crowded bar and out the door.

He paced the sidewalk back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut against the tears. He could have been out drinking with Ed. They could have been celebrating something, or they could be avoiding working on something, or they could be just stopping by to see old friends. It would be Ed who was the melancholy one, Ed who thought too much and stared into his drink with such a miserable expression that Al had to do something silly to cheer him up, like pretending to fall out of his chair.

He swiped angrily at he wetness on his face. He was crying again? Again? When was it going to stop? When was everything he saw and did going to stop reminding him of Ed?

When he blinked to clear his eyes he saw his cousin in front of him reaching into her purse and withdrawing a slim cigarette, lifting it lightly to her lips and closing her eyes as she lit it and inhaled.

"You smoke now?" he asked, his voice catching.

She nodded, exhaling a perfect ring.

He held his hand out. "Give me one too."

She raised her eyebrows. "You don't smoke," she said, frowning.

"I did in college," he said vaguely, and she shrugged, handing him her fancy lighter along with the cigarette.

He fumbled with lighting it for a moment, wondering how he managed to get so drunk, and then squeezed his eyes shut as his lungs screamed at being burned. He doubled over coughing, turning away from her, embarrassed suddenly at his stupidity.

"Alphonse!" she cried, rubbing circles on his back as if it would help him to get a good breath in. After a minute of struggling and wheezing he managed a clear breath before taking another drag.

Stephanie snatched her cigarette back from his lips, grinding it out against the brick wall of the pub. "What is the i matter /i with you?" she demanded angrily, stomping her foot and glaring at him. "Are you trying to i kill /i yourself?"

"What is the matter with you?" he countered angrily. "Why'd you even ask me here, just to set me up with your friend, that guy?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Just because i you've /i met some one… look, I'm really happy for you and all, but I-" Alphonse coughed violently again, falling silent for another moment before continuing. "Look, it's really great that you got over your loss and all that, but I-"

"Al, it's not like that, I didn't, that's not how it works, god, why i do /i you think I asked you here? You seriously think I'm trying to manipulate you in some way? Introduce you to someone who's… like you, so you can forget about Ed?" She inhaled from her cigarette sharply, letting the smoke drift out with her next sentence. "How can you think I'd be that sick?"

"Go back inside," he said quietly. "Have fun with your friends. Go dance with that guy of yours. I'm sorry I ruined your evening. I'm going back."

"Back to Munich?" she asked incredulously.

"No, back to your house," he said, holding out his hand. "I want the key."

She dug in her purse for a minute, looking up before she located it. "Al, just come back inside, or we'll both go back, or we'll go somewhere else-"

"No, forget it. Your friends are waiting. We'll try again tomorrow."

She placed the key in his palm, sighing. "Don't lock me out," she warned him.

"I won't. I won't sleep tonight."

"You should," she said reproachfully.

"Yeah but it wont happen."

"Don't make too much noise when you go inside-"

"I won't."

He was fairly certain he knew the way back to her house, but he had forgotten how intoxicated he was feeling and soon had no idea where he was. He wandered the lamp-lit sidewalks trying to search for landmarks but getting lost in thought each time he tried. It wasn't late, he reasoned. He could wonder for hours before the bars started closing and the streets became crowded again.

Ahead he could see a man in a suit on the street corner stopping each passerby with a question. Al watched each person shake their head and continue on, and guessed that the man might be selling something.

"Excuse me," the man said to him. "I'm looking for volunteers for an experiment we're conducting," he began."

"No thanks," Al mumbled, but the man continued.

"There is a woman in my library who claims she can speak to the dead. She is holding a séance tonight and we'll be recording it. We're looking for volunteers off the street to ensure that this isn't just a scam of hers, although all evidence points otherwise…" The man's explanation trailed off. "Sir? Are you interested?"

Alphonse was looking at the name of the street corner he was on, recalling something he had been told years ago. "The woman," he said slowly. "Is her name Gemma Heinricks?"

The man seemed disappointed. "You know her then?" He shook his head. "I can't use you, you have to be a complete stranger. Thanks for your time. Sir!" he called to the next passerby.

"Wait!" Al said before he knew what he was doing. "I don't know her, I read about her in the newspaper, in Munich, that's all. I remember the article saying she claimed she could cross between worlds, or something like that?" He suddenly felt dizzy and faltered a bit on his feet.

"Sir, have you been drinking?"

"I've got to see her, please, it's important!" Al pleaded, and the man sighed.

"Follow me then."

Al had lied when he said there was an article about Gemma Heinricks in the Munich paper, and he marveled at how easily the lie had come. As far as he knew, there had been no article. There had been a report published in an obscure occult journal and Ed had read it to him. Al dismissed it as nonsense but Ed had gone traipsing off to Frankfort with his father's encouragement. Both Ed and his father had collected all kinds of information of the supernatural.

Ed had returned from Frankfort entirely dejected. Whatever he thought he might find from the woman hadn't worked out for him. Al hadn't been surprised; he had thought it all nonsense from the beginning, the traveling between worlds. That was before he knew.

He told himself it was impossible to speak to those who had passed away and that's not why he was following this man. There was nothing that this woman could know about passing between worlds, or Ed would have never have returned from Frankfort. But he followed him anyway, if only for a chance to speak to the woman who had met Ed so many years ago, if she even remembered him.

Gemma Heinricks was a plain looking young woman with pale, straight hair hanging around her face. She sat at a round mahogany table with her hands folded and her eyes closed. The room held such a hushed air that Al dared not speak to her. There were several others sitting at the table, and Al joined them, taking one of the empty chairs.

"Does she need to know who I want to talk to?" one of the other people asked, and the man in the suit shook his head. There were other people in the corners of the room, in front of the bookshelves setting up cameras.

Gemma opened her eyes and looked directly at Al. "Why are you here?" she asked him, and he felt a chill up and down his spine.

"You met my brother once," he said before thinking. He didn't even realize what he said.

She nodded. "Edward."

The man in the suit was shaking his head. "This won't do, get him out of here. She knows him. We need these people to be complete strangers."

Gemma was continuing to stare at him. "Let him stay, Franz," she said softly. "He wants to be here."

Soon the cameras were rolling and they were holding hands around the table. Al's heart was pounding as he felt the temperature in the room drop, and a part of him took the moment to laugh at himself, a scientist, desperate enough to sit in on a séance. i It's not because I believe she can talk to the dead, /i he told himself. i It's just that Ed met her once, that's all. /i 

She began to speak in a deep, booming voice, and he would have thought it comical if the woman to her left hadn't started crying. i This is terrible, /i he thought to himself then. i This country has been through a war, everyone has lost someone, this woman is just trying to turn a profit,

But no one here was asked for any money. /i 

Al tried hard not to pay attention to the people around the table who cried out when they heard the voices of their "loved ones," feeling like he was going along with a spectacular trick being played at their expense. It was impossible. It was completely impossible. He just wanted a moment to speak to the woman, after all this was over. After these people have left.

Even though he had been instructed to close his eyes, he let them slit open, staring down at the mahogany table listening to the voices around him.

hr 

"Alphonse!"

His head snapped up out of habit and he blinked in confusion.

Had he fallen asleep?

He had been drunk, surely, but not terribly tired. It wasn't even late.

But he had to be dreaming.

"Alphonse, the General is waiting for your report."

A man in a blue uniform was gesturing towards a door, looking at him expectantly, and Al stood up as if out of instinct alone. "I'm dreaming," he said out loud, but his voice didn't have that weird echo of a dream. i But this had to be a dream /i .

He opened the door to see another man in a blue uniform sitting behind a desk. He looked up when he heard the door open and sat back in his chair. The man raised one eyebrow. The other was hidden behind a large patch. "Well?" he asked after a minute of silence. "Your report?"

"Report?" Alphonse echoed.

"You did go to Bethan?"

"Bethan?"

The man frowned, standing up. "Alphonse, are you all right?"

"I'm fine, I'm just dreaming," he said, squinting, trying to figure this out. There was something about this man… why would he be dreaming about him? Why did he look so familiar?

The man had a hand on either side of his face, turning his head from side to side and looking hard into his eyes. "Alphonse," he said sharply. "What's the matter? What's wrong?"

"It's you!" Al breathed, recognizing him at last. "Ed's… you were Ed's…"

The man's frown deepened. "You're not making sense. What about your brother? Did something happen?"

"No," Al said, desperately trying to get control over this dream. "Ed i is /i my brother."

He expected to wake up then, he had his grand revelation, he had had it many times over in fact, it was the stuff of his nightmares. Now it was time for him to wake up.

Alphonse pinched himself, hard, just under his ribs, and nearly yelped out loud. He blinked, several times, stretching his eyes open wider each time and had to resist the urge to jump up and down and yell, "I wanna wake up, I wanna wake up!"

Because it wouldn't have worked even if he had done it. Because he wasn't sleeping. Which would mean he wasn't dreaming. He put a hand to his head, half expecting to find what he did there: a ponytail of long hair trailing over his back. Looking down, he saw that he wore a blue uniform; the very same uniform the others around him were wearing.

As the pieces began to slide into place he let the full realization wash over him as to who the man with the eye patch was: he didn't know his name or his rank or what his relationship with him was supposed to be, but he knew this was someone Ed had, at least at one time, harbored strong feelings for.

Strong enough feelings to get involved with this man's double while he was stranded in Munich. Mr. Hassan, that had been the man's name. Ed would disappear late at night, only to return intoxicated and miserable and talking nonsense, and it was all because of Mr. Hassan. Mr. Hassan was the reason Alphonse had ever let himself feel anything for Ed. Mr. Hassan was the reason Alphonse even considered that Edward was like him; that Edward also liked men. Because Ed was having an affair with Mr. Hassan.

And here he was. Not the copy in Munich (since when had the populace of Munich become mere copies of the people that inhabited Ed's own world?) but the real man. The one who may possibly have deserved Ed's misplaced affections.

"Alphonse," the man said sharply. "Lieutenant Elric. Is everything all right?" His voice became a shade more gentle. "Are you okay?"

Alphonse opened his mouth and closed it again without speaking. Edward's brother was a Lieutenant in the military. A military alchemist, that was what he had said, wasn't it? He jumped when the phone on the man's desk rang.

"Mustang," said the man as he picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment and then began barking orders into the phone, commands that made no sense to Alphonse even as he listened carefully. When he slammed the phone down he looked Al in the eye and said, "There's a situation. If you are unwell, you need to tell me now. Otherwise I need you to gather the rest of the unit. The president's been shot and may have been killed. We need to lock down all of Central. Alphonse? Do you understand me?" The man, Mustang, stood up, coming around from behind the desk and took him by the shoulders. "Whatever's going on between you and your brother you need to put it aside, you have a job to do!"

Information was swirling around his head faster than he could keep track of. He was unable to make heads or tails of his surroundings let alone fall into the role of Ed's younger brother. He felt himself struggling even to keep consciousness, and let himself decide it may be better not to, hoping he didn't hit his head too hard as his vision began to blur and he felt his knees give way beneath him.

hr 

He was silent as the military doctor had examined him, watching his body nearly as closely as the doctor himself did. He had seen himself in the mirror. He was Ed's brother: dark gold hair and bronze eyes, but his own face, or a younger version of it. A face without lines, but a face with plenty of sorrow.

Now he sat in the military hospital, apparently forgotten by the doctor, watching patient after patient being brought past him. Had there been some kind of disaster? He sat by the nurses station, having been asked to vacate the exam room hours ago, and listened to the radio broadcast that he barely understood. It was like trying to read a book in a language that shared all the same letters but none of the same words.

The country's leader had been assassinated and the city was rioting. That was why there were so many injured coming in to the hospital. The debate was over whether or not the crime had been internal. Because according to the broadcast, as far as Al could understand, another country's government may have paid some unhappy citizen to commit the assassination. Which would mean he had appeared in a country about to go to war.

He fell asleep twice, for less than an hour, sitting outside the nurse's station watching the injured come in and out. Nearly twenty hours went by before someone came after him, and it was the same man he had seen when he first appeared in this world. The man who looked like Edward's Mr. Hassan. Mustang.

He burst into the military hospital, loud and demanding, surprisingly gentle as he pulled him to his feet but ordering the nurses to find him the doctor who had treated him. "Alphonse," he said, his voice sharp, serious, and low. "Are you all right? What happened back there?"

"I-I'm fine," he forced himself to say, but he could tell the man didn't believe him, even after the doctor confirmed it.

"I trust you heard what happened?" man asked him, looking at him skeptically, watching how he would react.

"The president…" he began haltingly.

"The police have the suspect in custody. It looks like he may have been hired by the Drachmen- Alphonse!" he snapped suddenly. "What ever it is, put it aside! We're in a state of national emergency, why have you been sitting in here all this time anyway? Why did you not report back to me?"

It was just like the dream. He had the chance to ask for Ed but his dream self could never get the words out in time. Strange as the situation was, this was not a dream and he was not his dream self. He could say whatever he wanted, he had no dream-restrictions on him. And Edward was really here, somewhere, in this world. He took a deep breath. "Where's Edward?"

Mustang stared at him, hard, that single black eye piercing him, sharp as his voice, sharp as his grip when he grabbed him by the arm and dragged him out of the military hospital. "I need you in my office. We need to speak in private."

They looked, Alphonse was sure, like two military officials walking briskly side by side, but there was no doubt in his mind. This man had a grip on him that belied his suspicions, and Alphonse wondered what the man would say if he told him the truth, that he wasn't Alphonse Elric, he was Alphonse Heiderich, Ed's lover from another universe. Because, he realized as he was marched through the military building up to the offices, this man, whoever he was, knew Ed's brother well enough to know that even though he looked exactly like him, even though this was his very body, he wasn't who he was supposed to be.

Mustang shut the door with a soft click and showed him one gloved hand. The gloves were strange, with red line designs on their backs, designs like the ones the Elrics had scribbled furiously over their research. "Envy," he said slowly, quietly, as if to himself. Then he addressed Alphonse. "Did you know I killed one of your kind already?" He touched the patch over his eye. "It cost me," he said, "but it was possible. Homunculi can be killed."

Alphonse swallowed. "Envy?" he repeated.

"You're a shape shifter. Just like him. You've got Al's form perfectly, I can't fault you there, but you didn't do your research before hand," he said, and his tone was menacing.

Alphonse swallowed again. Reality was even more frightening than his dreams. "I'm not Alphonse!" he blurted out. This place that was Edward's home was dangerous with its strange alchemy and now its war, and its military and this man who looked like Mr. Hassan. "I mean," he stumbled quickly, afraid to lie, "I am Alphonse, but I'm not i your /i Alphonse."

The man pressed his thumb and middle finger together, as if he were about to snap, and the motion filled Alphonse with dread, although he could find nothing frightening about the snapping of fingers. "Who sent you here? What did you do to Al?"

"I don't know how I got here. And Al, I i am /i Al, I'm in his body. I'm not some creature taking his form!" he said desperately. "Please, I just need to find Ed!"

Things Ed had told him about the other side of the gate were filtering through Roy's mind. Everyone had a double on the other side. Ed even mentioned running into Roy's own double. And Ed said he found himself in the body of his own double the first time he crossed the gate. Still, Roy remained suspicious. "Everyone wants to find Ed," he said shortly, dismissing Al's request. "It's never been the easiest thing to accomplish. This city is rioting, I've got all my men on crowd control as we speak. I couldn't contact Ed if I wanted to, even if I knew where he was."

"You don't know where he is?" Alphonse said, the sentence rushing out of him without enough air to carry it, his hopes sinking into the floor through the soles of his boots.

He felt like he was falling, falling through layers and layers of air, with the words "What have you done to Alphonse?" echoing after him.

It was over. His chance to seize his dreams and turn them to reality was over. He failed.

hr 

When Alphonse woke he was lying on an uncomfortable couch covered in a scratchy blanket. Even as he opened his eyes his heart was racing, and his mind struggled to recall where he was and what had happened. He sat bolt upright, faster than he had meant to, and felt the room begin to spin.

i What room was he in anyway? /i 

It was a library; the walls were lined with books, and he recognized it slowly. i Gemma. Gemma something. Gemma Heinrick, the psychic. /i "I was right, it i was /i a dream," he said out loud, not really meaning to. Because of course it had to be a dream.

The woman, the psychic, Gemma, was in the room with him and hurried to his side when she realized he was awake. "Are you all right?" she asked him, her voice tinged with concern.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I've been drinking and… I fell asleep. I'm sorry, I ruined your-" he looked around for the rest of the people, for the men with the cameras, for the man in the suit, but they were all gone.

She was holding a steaming cup of tea, and pressed it into his hand, saying, "Drink this."

To late he thought of strange gypsy women giving mysterious brews to men, but it tasted like ordinary scalding hot tea, even like the cheap kind he and Ed always kept around.

" i I'm /i sorry," she said softly. "You're looking for something, but it's not something I can help you find. Your brother has not passed on, I could not hear his spirit."

"I-my brother- I meant, you never met my brother. You met my friend, Ed-"

She smiled at him, and he felt like he wanted to scream. Why should she possibly be smiling at him? Was she reading his mind? Was he thinking anything he didn't want her to know? "You know Edward is alive," she said sweetly. "Your brother isn't dead. Isn't that enough?"

Alphonse stood angrily, flinging the blanket off of himself and not feeling dizzy or intoxicated in the least. "You don't know what you're saying," he said harshly, eager suddenly to get away from her. "I'll show myself out," he added, making his way to the door.

Once outside he saw that it was the grey light of pre-dawn, and that he had been inside for hours. He recognized where he was immediately, and knew at once how to get back to his cousin's house. He felt for her key in his pocket and smacked his forehead with his palm: he had locked her out! He walked hurriedly through the empty streets, not thinking once about the dream he had been having less than a half hour before.

It had been stupid to get so drunk in a city he wasn't familiar with; it had been stupid to chase after ghosts in the first place. Here he was in Frankfort, invited, he was sure, to settle his cousin's worries about him, and he had gotten drunk and angry and disappeared on her!

When he arrived at her house the door was cracked open, and he could hear her voice inside. "Stephanie?" he called, and she came rushing towards him, flinging her arms around him.

"What happened? Are you all right? Are you hurt? Were you kidnapped? Alphonse, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left you go off like that alone, I-"

"It's all right, I'm sorry, I was being an asshole. I'm sorry I took your key and then didn't come back," he told her. He saw that her eyes were wet with tears, and felt his heart sink even further into his stomach.

"Whatever I did that made you angry, Al, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I keep trying to make you talk about Ed-"

"Shh," he said quietly. "I don't really want to talk about Ed anymore."

hr 


	14. Chapter Nine: I'll Be Running the Other

**I'll Be Running The Other Way**

It was the only place within walking distance of Altenburg.

He had walked from Dillon to Altenburg once, that day he re-appeared in Amestris without a single cenz in his pocket for a train ticket, and now, nearly two years later, he was right back where he started: walking between towns, leg aching, out of breath and out of shape from so much lack of activity, and it was summer, meaning it was unbearably hot out and he could feel his automail heating up. He was surprised it wasn't scorching his clothes.

He'd only been in the town that one time before, but he remembered there was a fountain in the town square, just like Altenburg and just like all the towns in the north, and when he found it he sat down on the edge of it, hands on his knees, and thought _now what?_ because that was the easiest thing to think for the moment. Then he grabbed the edge of the stone he sat on and leaned back, closing his eyes and feeling the cool water wash over his face and neck and finally over his shoulders, swearing that even underwater he could feel the metal of the port hissing as it hit the water.

After nearly a minute he rose back to a sitting position, dripping and gasping and rubbing his eyes and looking ahead through soaked strands of dark gold at the floral patterned skirt of an older woman with her hands on her hips. "You're not allowed to bathe in the fountain," she said firmly, steeling her expression. "People drink that water, it's unsanitary to submerge your entire self in it, and don't give me some line about how you've just had a bath because you clearly have not."

He gaped at her. She was the same woman who had told him he was in Dillon the first time he was there; the same woman who told him her husband had an inn nearby and the same woman who had been amazed by the alchemy of a street performer.

Ed rubbed the back of his head, trying in vain to appear if not charming, at least trustworthy. "Ah, you're right, I haven't," he conceded. "You wouldn't know where I might find a place to stay?" he added hopefully.

She shook her head. "No where on this end of town," she said, still gazing down at him, seemingly trying to make up her mind about this stranger. Her eye caught sight of his metal hand and he saw her notice it, covering it with the flesh one.

"But I thought-" he began, narrowing his eyes.

"We don't take well to travelers here in Dillon, not these days," she said brusquely. "Never know who to trust, who's military and who's a terrorist." She gave a nod towards the other direction; opposite the one he came. "You need some kind of help, try the military base."

He stood up, hoping to look her in the eye but she was a tall woman, and he contemplated standing on his toes for a moment before he decided that was just too undignified. As if he could become more undignified than half-soaking wet with nowhere to stay and not a penny to his name.

She looked at him warily. "Just as I thought," she said, folding her arms. "No friend of the military, you." With that she walked away, leaving him gaping behind her.

"Wait!" he called without thinking. "What about your inn?"

She waved her hand in the air, not even turning around. "Closed," she said as she walked away. "For repairs." She got a few steps further before whirling around again. "Wait a minute," she said, narrowing her eyes. "You're him, aren't you? You're the Fullmetal Alchemist."

"No, my name is-"

"Heiderich, isn't it?" she finished for him. "Edward Heiderich?"

He stood, several feet away, blinking water droplets from his eyelashes. "Did you say your inn was closed for repairs?" he tried.

h 

It came naturally to him. He didn't know why he thought it wouldn't. All he had to do was visualize in his mind the straightening of beams, the rearrangement of molecules…

_All he had to do…_

The world in which alchemy was nothing more than a bedtime story was becoming more on more like a dream to him. Feeling the elements shift beneath his hands, looking up in triumph at the solid building straightening under _his power_, he wasn't certain that other world had even existed. He had spent ten years believing it was nothing but a secondary existence, a transitory place, an imitation of his true reality, and, looking into the smiling face of the woman who's inn he had just repaired, he felt at home, finally.

_The alchemist for the people._

_Using alchemy to help the common folk._

_Using alchemy. _

"There you are, ma'am," he said, able to feel his grin splitting his face in half. He dusted his hands off by brushing them together. "All fixed up."

She folded her arms in front of herself. "Well," she said, pleased. "I'd say you've about earned yourself a hot meal and a place to stay whenever you need it." She winked. "Mr. Heiderich." He started at the name.

It was his own fault. He needed an alias and it was the first name that popped into his head. The first name he knew wouldn't be tied to anyone on this side of the gate. But every time he heard it it was like being reminded of a dream that was slowly slipping out of his memory.

Dillon was a nice town. It was a lot like Altenburg: a small northern town along the northern railway through the mountains. There had been a war between Amestris and Drachma, he knew, and surely the train didn't run back and forth through the mountain tunnels like it had before the war, but in actuality he didn't know. He knew very little about the current state of his own country.

He hadn't heard much about the terrorist attacks on the northern railways, effectively blocking off physical contact from the rest of the country. The military had tried its best to hush it up, preventing much more than the barest details from reaching the news. He hadn't heard much about the terrorist attacks in Central either; that was Al's area these days, not his.

He wasn't in this world to benefit the military; he was nobody's dog. He wasn't in this world to be with the people he loved; it had been too long and he wasn't the golden boy they remembered. But he could always be the Alchemist of the People.

hr 

His mind was blank.

There were no images, just a white nothingness. It was like when a film ends, and it goes black, and then slips off the reel and the screen is simply white, with nothing projected but the light from the bulb, except he had no memory of there ever being a film.

His eyes were open. He was looking at a ceiling, and then at a wall. Nothing looked familiar to him. It wasn't simply that he didn't know where he was. He didn't know anything at all. And it was terrifying.

_Think,_ he told himself intensely. _Think of _something. _There has to be something._

He was sitting on the side of a cot, staring at a small, bare room. He crossed his feet. The action felt familiar. He was beginning to be aware of his body. It felt familiar. And then,

_Edward._

Edward?

_Longing. Missing. Wanting. Crying. Screaming. Pushing. Hurting. Clinging. Sobbing. Loving. Wishing. Hoping. Trying._

_Edward._

The knowledge came slowly, as if being forced out through an opening too small.

He had a brother named Edward. A brother he loved beyond loving. A brother he had spent most of his life missing. A brother whom he didn't know where he was right now, a brother whom he had hurt-

And with that thought everything hit him at once, his mother's death, the transmutation, waking up in the future to find everyone older and his brother gone, joining the military, finding his brother again, older, different, changed, but still Edward, his daughter (or was she Ed's daughter?) and the screaming, sobbing fight they had just had. All this was layered with the knowledge that he had spent four years as a suit of armor, and the barely-there memories his soul still held onto of that time, and layered again with the information that his country was under an attack that seemed to be coming from within itself, and that, being military, he was right in the middle of it all.

The president had been assassinated. Officially it was the result of a short lived civil uprising; something that came from his country's own citizens. Privately, it was being discovered that a foreign source had hired Amestrian rebels to do the job. Their enemy to the north, Drachma, was preparing to attack again.

But… where did this information come from? How did he know the president has been assassinated. _Had_ it really happened, or had it been a dream his over-tired, over-stressed subconscious had cooked up?

He didn't jump when he heard the gunshots outside his window. He was military, he was trained not to be shocked by something like that. He was in the military dorm; the shots were far away, somewhere else in Central. It probably wasn't a dream. The city probably was rioting. The president probably had been killed. So… why was he here in his room?

He looked down at himself. He was in uniform. The last thing he remembered was that he was waiting to give General Mustang his report from his field work in Bethan. But obviously he didn't give him the report… did he?

He couldn't recall anything like this ever happening to him before: waking up feeling blank and panicked and unable to remember his most recent actions. Yes, he did lose four years of memory, and yes, it did feel very unsettling, but it didn't feel like _this_. What was going on?

The second time he heard gunshots he sprang into action. He didn't know how he knew that the people of Central were rioting, he didn't know how he knew that the president had been assassinated, but he knew who he was. He was a Lieutenant in the Amestris military and he did not belong in his room, he belonged with the rest of the soldiers, doing what they had to do to get things under control.

hr 

Edward smoothed his gloves over his hands, flesh and metal, and gave his leg and his shoulder a good stretch like he did every morning. He gathered his hair back in a ponytail at the back of his head, combing his gloved fingers through its length. He listened to the sounds of his boots on the wooden stairs of the inn, and smirked. The sound wasn't exactly the same, but it was close enough. If you weren't listening for it, you'd never know.

No matter what the suspicion of the innkeeper, there was no visible proof at all that he was the Fullmetal Alchemist. None whatsoever. He was just an ordinary guy who liked alchemy, earning his keep in this small northern town.

He liked to go to the edge of the town, where the forest started, to exercise. He went through his old routine that Izumi had taught him an Al almost on auto-pilot, it had been so familiar to him. His body was slower to respond, but it felt good to push himself. The burning in his muscles just meant he was using them. It just meant he was whole. Physically.

It was one of those clear summer days, not a single cloud, and the blazing heat of the sun was thick in the air. He liked the feel of the sun-shade pattern the leaves above him made over his form, changing and glittering constantly as both he moved, fighting an invisible opponent, and the leaves moved, rustled by an invisible force. A thin sheen of sweat coated his face, and he was flushed pink from the exercise.

When he felt he had done enough for the day, he hung his head down, hands pressed to his thighs, facing the ground and breathing deeply. He felt his ponytail slowly slide over his neck and head to hang upside down, the ends of his hair dangling in front of his eyes behind his bangs. He stood up suddenly, still breathing furiously, and grinned at his accomplishment. He stretched his automail joints once more and felt a pang as he mentally thanked his best friend. _I'm sorry, Winry. I'm sorry, Al,_ he thought, like a mantra, over and over. But whatever he had done to hurt them with his return was nothing compared to what he had done to Al when they were children. At least he had righted the worst of his wrongs. One of them, anyway.

Walking back through the town, several of the residents raised their hands and waved to him. "Hello!" they called to him from whatever their activities were. He waved back. There was a small book shop on one of the side streets, and he decided to have a look inside, even if he couldn't buy anything. Surely, such a small town wouldn't have anything very advanced in the way of science or alchemy, but he could probably find some interesting fiction or poetry. Breathing in deeply as he entered, feeling strangely comforted by the smell of old paper and bindings, his eye was caught by a slim volume with a castle on the cover.

Of course this little shop wouldn't have that new series he liked that was all the rage in Central, but older stories were just as good. He began to leaf through the volume when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Need that book for school, son?" rumbled the voice, and he looked up into the face of the middle-aged bookseller.

Ed frowned. "What?"

"I keep plenty of copies of that one, they all read it over at the school. Although it might be ahead of your year-" The man stopped speaking when he saw Ed's expression.

"I'm not in _school_," he exploded. Who did this man think he was, some kid? Just because he was short –and he wasn't _that_ short- didn't mean he was a kid, didn't this man have _eyes_? Because there was no way he looked _that_ young!

"Not in school?" the man asked, narrowing his eyes. "What is the world coming to these days, kids not going to school-"

"I'm – a bit – old," Ed said, each word clipped and tight, his one hand making a fist and the other pressing its fingers tightly into the cover of the flimsy little book, "to go – to school," he spat out, and the man looked at him curiously.

Then he laughed. "Ah, my mistake!" the man said good-naturedly. "You look about as old as my son, I guess I just assumed!"

Ed rubbed the back of his head, forcing a smile to his lips. "Ah, that's okay," he made himself say. He released the book from his tight grip and set it back on the shelf with its duplicates. "You're lucky I'm _not_ a kid, I might've destroyed your entire shop for calling me a microscopic shorty who doesn't look old enough to be in kindergarten!"

"I didn't say all that!" the man protested, but Ed was already halfway out the door, the little bells above his head jingling at his exit.

On the way back to the inn a pair of dark-skinned children collided with him in the street, and when they looked up at him it was with red eyes. "Hey, careful!" he told them. "Don't play in the street!" was what he said, but he was surprised to see Ishbalan children so far north in his country. Were they orphans? Had some northern couple adopted them? No, there was there mother a few feet away, chatting with another woman, a native of the north. She spoke with an accent, but she and her children seemed very much at home in Dillon.

"Watch me," said the little boy. "I can do a trick!" He produced a yo-yo from his pocket and proceeded to bounce it up and down on the string. The sister, the little girl, shrieked and laughed at him.

"You're doing it wrong!" she told him.

"Am not!" the boy said crossly. "This is what the man in the shop was doing."

Ed laughed, crouching down. "I think you've almost got it," he said encouragingly. "Can I try?"

The boy handed him the toy with it's unwound string, and Ed wound it carefully before he let it drop from his fingers and jerked it back up.

"I think this is how you do it," he said, watching the two pairs of red eyes go up and down with the yo-yo.

The girl clapped her hands and laughed again, and the boy snatched his toy back. When Ed looked up their dark-skinned, red-eyed mother had come over to them. "I'm sorry if these two are bothering you," she said, smiling. She tilted her face down to her children. "Don't bother the nice young man, I'm sure he has things he needs to be doing."

Ed shrugged. "It's okay," he said, rubbing the back of his head again.

"Stay and play with us!" the little girl demanded, and Ed smiled at her.

"Uh, maybe another day?" he suggested, and the mother laughed.

"Well, they certainly took a liking to you right away!" she said, her red eyes meeting his.

"Uh, yeah, well. Kids usually do. I have a daughter about her age," he added awkwardly, uncertain as always about calling Kaiya his daughter.

"Do you? Maybe our kids could play together! There aren't very many children here their age-" she looked at him curiously. "You're new to the town, aren't you?"

"My daughter is… with her mother," he said, even more awkward now. "And yeah, I am new around here."

"You must miss her. Your daughter, I mean," the woman said sympathetically.

"Yeah. I do."

The woman held her hand out to shake. "I'm Anya," she said brightly, and he gave her hand a quick shake with his gloved one.

"I'm Ed," he said. "Nice to meet you." The woman then gathered her children out of the street and went back to her conversation with her friend, and Ed continued his walk back to the inn. His country had changed in more ways than he realized, he thought to himself. When he had been a kid he had seen the military marching through his town on its way to conquer Ishbal. When he had been a teenager his government had rounded them all up and sent them to camps in deserted places, because it was "better" for them that way. Now not only were the signs at the Central train station in Ishbalan as well, but there were Ishbalans living right here in the north, right along side everyone else. Maybe his country was changing for the better?

hr 

Al felt a hand on his shoulder, and looked up from where he was crouching on the roof of the Central headquarters building. "You're shift's finished, Elric, the next rotation's on," the soldier told him. He couldn't recall the man's name but it was someone he'd worked with before. Al nodded and stood up, his joints stiff from holding the awkward position for so long. "General Mustang wants to see you in his office now that things are starting to calm down," he added, and Al nodded again.

Roy had forbid him from leaving the headquarters building, insisting that his help was completely unnecessary for the crowd control and he wasn't needed in investigations either. He finally allowed Al to help out the security team, and Al would have protested, saying there weren't many State Alchemists here in Central at the moment and of course his skills were needed, but he had the suspicion that Roy knew something about his memory loss that he did not.

The halls of the headquarters building were eerily quiet, considering the recent upheaval, and Al figured people who normally worked inside were called away for one reason or another relating to either the rioting or the assassination, or something else entirely. His country was spiraling out of control, he could feel it in the air, and he was certain everyone else could as well.

The sight of General Mustang was a comfort to him, and that realization left him slightly shocked. But the man always had an aura of calm and control, even in the midst of chaos, and Al felt the effects immediately.

The single eye regarded him steadily, and gloved fingers formed a steeple for the gaze to pass over. Al stood in front of the desk, his brief calm being replaced by unease.

"Close the door," Mustang instructed him, and he did. "Tell me what happened."

"On the roof?" Al said, even knowing that wasn't what the man was talking about. He was talking about whatever preceded his waking up in his dorm in the midst of a military crisis with no memory of anything, let along how he got there.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

"Sorry, sir," he said dutifully, looking down at the floor. "It's just that- well, I don't know what happened."

He could read no expression on the man's face. "Why don't you tell me what you do know?"

"I was going to give you my report on the Bethan mission," Al began haltingly. "And then- nothing. I woke up in my room and I couldn't remember anything at all. Like everything I knew had been completely wiped out."

"Has that ever happened to your memory before?" Mustang asked calmly.

"No, sir. Never."

"Anything else you might want to add?"

"No sir," Al said at first, but then he added, "just that, when I woke up, I knew what was happening. I knew that Central was rioting and I knew that the president had been assassinated. First I thought it was a dream, because I couldn't remember it happening and I couldn't remember being told about it. But I knew it was true."

"My first thought," the General said slowly, "was that you were not yourself. That a shape-shifter had taken on your appearance. But you said some very strange things to be just before you lost consciousness."

Al frowned.

"I should send you to the military psychiatric unit," Mustang said, leaning back in his chair, placing his hands on the edge of his desk. "If anyone else had heard the things you said, I would have to. But I'd like to believe there's another explanation for this."

_Believe me, so would I,_ Al thought grimly. "So, what… what did I say, then?" he asked anxiously.

"You were very concerned about finding your brother. I found it suspicious that you would speak about him so bluntly and in front of so many people, and when I questioned you about your identity in private, when I told you I thought you were a homunculus pretending to be Alphonse Elric you told me that you were not, you were human, but you were not Al. You were merely a spirit who had taken over Al's body in order to find Ed."

"_What?"_ Al did not believe in the supernatural. He did not believe in ghosts and spirits and possessions. As far as he knew, the General didn't either.

"The strangest thing you said," the General continued, his voice sounding far away amidst the confusion swirling around Al's mind, "was that you _were_ Alphonse, you just weren't _this_ Alphonse." The man stared at him for a few more seconds. "I'm hoping you can tell me something, Lieutenant, whatever it may be, that will put your mental health back in good standing with me. Because as I'm sure you can understand, I am incredibly concerned as of now."

_Alphonse, but not _this_ Alphonse. _Another_ Alphonse._

_The other Alphonse._

He swallowed hard. His heart was pounding. Had the other boy's soul really crossed the Gate and inhabited his own body? What could have happened? And what if it happened again?

"I don't know if it will make you less concerned," he said quietly, staring at the surface of the desk, forcing himself to repeat something that must sound impossible, "but I think I can tell you what happened. It has to do with Ed."

hr 

Winry swiped blindly for the alarm clock on her nightstand for several moments before she woke enough to realize the sound was not her alarm but her telephone ringing in the middle of the night.

She stumbled out of bed, first being surprised that Kaiya had not woken and begun to cry before her brain shifted into panic. When was the last time her phone had rung in the middle of the night? She knew when. It had been during the war.

"Hello?" she said into the receiver, her voice shaking, her mind begging it to be a wrong number.

"Winry," Al's voice crackled over the wires to her. "Listen, this is very important. You've got to come to Central where it's safe, you and Kaiya both. Is Brother with you?"

"Safe? Al, what are you talking about? Why isn't it safe?"

"The borders-" there was a crackle and she didn't hear the rest of his sentence. "-have warned us but there's still a chance. It's safer even in Central, even with the assassination. You're too close to the northern border. Is Ed there, or are you alone?"

She stared down at the little table the phone rested on, seeing this very scene years before.

"No," she whispered. "Ed isn't here."

"_You're too close to the northern border, Drachma is going to attack."_

"_Al, if Drachma is going to attack, why isn't the military here to stop them?"_

_There had been a disturbing pause._

"_Al?"_

"_The military," he had told her, his words falling out of the phone like stones, dropping down onto the wooden floor at her feet, "doesn't consider protecting the northern countryside a priority. They're announcing the evacuation tomorrow over the radio. I'm sorry for calling you in the middle of the night but I wanted to give you time to pack."_

_Her home had been the Rockbell home in Rizembool for generations before she was even born, how could she possibly begin to think about packing things up and leaving? What could she take? No matter how many of her things she could carry out of the place, she would still be leaving her _home_. Her only home. "There's really going to be a war," she said, and it wasn't a question. Her voice was resigned. She was already looking around the room deciding what could come with her and what would have to stay._

"_There's a place for you here in Central-"_

"_I don't want to live in Central."_

"_It's the safest place you can be right now. Please, Winry. I need to know that you're safe."_

_She clutched the phone to her ear. "Al," she whispered. "How am I going to know whether _you're_ safe?"_

"Are they evacuating?" she asked softly, the memory sending chills up her spine and over the back of her neck.

"Not yet. They don't want people to know there's no way to evacuate everyone by train. The rails have been blown up and there aren't enough workers to repair them fast enough. The military is too tied up protecting Central."

"The rails… what?" she repeated in a near whisper.

"They've been keeping it out of the news because they don't want people to panic. But Winry, promise me you'll find a way out of there. Get to Central if you can."

"I'll drive," she said, her voice an echo of how she thought it would sound. "I'll find a car, I'll drive if I have to."

The next sentence was cut off by static. "-inside the country, but it isn't. They've been here all along."

"What?"

"Winry?"

"Yeah?"

"If I don't get to see you, I love you. And tell brother I love him."

Her eyes flew open. "Don't talk like that, Al! Nothing's going to happen to us! Everything's going to be okay. Kaiya and I will meet you in Central, I promise you!"

There was silence, and it was several seconds before Winry realized that the line was dead.

hr 

When he woke up he had thought he was in London. He had thought he was in London in his father's apartment and that the city was being bombed. A quick look out the window at the sky had assured him that he was at home in his own world, where huge blimps did not drop bombs out of the sky and machines called airplanes had never been invented. That realization had sent him into a fresh panic: what were the sounds of war doing in his own world?

He had crept downstairs to see the woman who owned the inn standing in the open doorway, and together they could see the distant flashes of gunfire to the north of the town. "What's happening?" he asked in a whisper, and she jumped, pulling her shawl around herself even tighter.

"We're being invaded," she whispered back. Ed stared past her into the town; there were people in their doorways and at their windows looking out with dread at the same sight he was. He could hear the reports coming from the radio of more than one house: it was an emergency announcement that all civilians were to stay indoors until further instruction and that all military personnel who were not at the base were to immediately report back.

"By who?"

"Drachma, of course," she hissed, and motioned for him to keep his voice down.

"They can't hear us, you know," he said, stepping out onto the porch only to be snatched back inside.

"What are you doing?" the woman snapped, her eyes fearful in the moonlight.

He twisted out of her grip and stepped out into the street. "I'm an alchemist," he said, letting his voice take on a cocky tone and meaning it for the first time in years. "If we're being invaded, I'm going to stop them."

He said it loud enough that all the households on the street with their doors and windows open could hear his announcement, and they watched him has he stormed off in the distance towards the sound of gunfire.

He crept quietly closer and closer to the fighting, trying to get a good gauge of what was going on, when he felt the unmistakable barrel of a gun on his neck. He froze.

"Don't move," said the voice.

"Not moving," he gritted out. As soon as he spoke the other man dropped the gun.

"You're Amestrian," the soldier said.

"Damn right I am," Ed responded, whirling around to face the man who had almost shot him.

The man looked him up and down. "You're not military," he said, but his gaze was questioning. "You're not in uniform." What kind of civilian would walk right into a battle?

They both heard the missile above them at the same time; they both ducked down, the soldier covering his head and Ed clapping his hands and pressing them to the ground, causing an earthen dome to rise up above them. Within seconds it was shattered by the missile, spraying clouds of dirt in all directions, but the explosive had been alchemically neutralized.

"I'm an alchemist," the young man said. "I've worked for the military before."

The man gave a short nod. "We could sure use you now," he affirmed, but the mysterious alchemist had run off towards the next hurtling explosive, barely neutralizing it before it would have blown him to pieces.

As the battle raged on a rumor began to spread about an alchemist who had come from the neighboring town, a short man with blond hair who did alchemy without transmutation circles.

The northernmost regions of Amestris had been somewhat disputed territory ever since the first war had ended. Drachma had officially retreated back to their borders but the area between Rizembool and the mountains had remained unsafe enough to prohibit re-habitation. That had been a big enough blow on the northern part of the country. But even in the midst of the previous war Drachma had not gotten as far as Bethan, as far as Altenburg, and certainly not all the way to the base in Dillon.

If this battle was lost, the entire north could very well be lost. And the Drachman army was huge. They were huge, and they seemed to anticipate every defensive move the Amestris military attempted to make. The only success they had was with this wildcard alchemist who had shown up in the middle of the night, saying he was there to help.

hr 

Winry had tried to hire or borrow a car, any car, from anywhere, but by the next morning the whole town of Altenburg was in a panic. The station was selling out of tickets towards Central, even though Winry knew that even with a ticket the train wouldn't get her to Central, not if what Al had told her hours ago about the damage to the rails. The lines at the small station were long and unruly, and by the time she got to the window all the tickets were gone.

The conductor saw that she had a child with her and at the last minute waved her on, but there was nowhere for her and Kaiya to sit. The train was full of women and children. _They were evacuating_, she thought with a shiver. She had told Kaiya that they were going to Central to see her Daddy, and that she had to be very good or she and Mommy would not be allowed on the train, and her daughter clutched her hand silently, looking around with wide eyes at the other, silent children on the train. The entire compartment was filled with a sense of dread, and Winry was certain that every compartment on the train was exactly the same.

She wondered if any of these people knew their ticket wouldn't get them to Central, like she did, and were trying anyway, or if they really thought they had got their passage to safety.

After two hours of standing Kaiya finally began to fuss, along with the other young children in the compartment. She began to whine for her Daddy. "Shhh, baby," Winry told her quietly. "When we get to Central we'll see Daddy, all right?"

It came as no surprise to her when the train came to a stop and sat on the tracks just south of Dillon station with no explanation. She was right, no one else on the train knew that the rails had been damaged and the train couldn't run. There was a rash of speculation as to why the train stopped, but when the announcement actually came, it came as a surprise. All the passengers would be walking along the tracks back to Dillon and would be spending the night in the town hall. By morning the rails should be repaired. Winry hoped that was the truth.

By the time she was back indoors, in the crowded building with a hard cot provided for her, she was frightened and exhausted, and Kaiya was tired but would not go to sleep in the strange place. She spent the day listening to the radio reports that yes, Al had been right, Drachma was invading from the north, and then suddenly the broadcast went silent.

Late at night, curled around her daughter and trying in vain to get at least a little sleep before morning, she woke to the unmistakable sounds of distant gunfire. Everyone who had been on the train with her was slowly waking up and shuffling towards the windows and could see the battle going on in the distance. "That's the military base out there," someone told her.

"The military can't stop them," said someone else. "That base is a military research facility, they don't have enough men there to fight a decent battle."

She hated the waiting; she hated the uncertainty. It wasn't any different waiting for news of disaster at home or waiting for news of disaster here in the town hall in Dillon. It was familiar to her all the same. And she hated it.

"Did you see that?" the soldier said in a low voice, crouching down beside his comrades.

"Which?"

"Look," he said, jerking his head to the left, and all three men saw another man, a young man, in civilian clothing, clapping his hands together and pressing them to the ground. The earth seemed to tremble for a minute and they could almost see the path the alchemy took out across the battlefield to the enemy side. Seconds later there was a purple and blue explosion in the distance.

"He's crazy," one of them whispered.

"He's gonna get shot," said another, just as the figure jerked backward, dropping to its knees on the ground and clutching its left shoulder.

"Who is 'e?"

"Dunno."

There was a moment's pause. "Go get 'im," came the directive. "I'll cover you."

There was blood soaking through the man's shirt but he stood up and ran with the soldier back to the rocky area that was providing them with cover.

The soldier yanked the man's shirt open to see the wound, even as the man protested. "Hey, I'm a doctor," the soldier told him. "Calm down."

"I'm fine," the man sputtered.

"You got shot," the soldier said, and the man yelped as he probed the wound. All three soldiers could see when the doctor pulled the shirt aside that the man's other shoulder was automail. "Get out of here, get back that way to the medic tents, they'll tend to you there," he instructed, but the man ignored him, trying to stand back up.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"You're the Fullmetal Alchemist," one of the other soldiers blurted out, staring at the uninjured metal soldier.

Something exploded about ten feet to the left of the men.

"I am _not_. If you remember me at the end of all this," he said, gesturing with his metal arm to the debris still scattering over the rocks from the explosion, "be sure to remember _that_, too!"

The soldier who was also a doctor was reaching into his bag. "I can get the bullet out and bandage you up, but it's going to hurt," he warned. "They have better painkillers back at the medic tents."

"Fine but make it quick," the man who was not the Fullmetal Alchemist grumbled. A few minutes later he was gone.

hr 

It took three soldiers to drag him into the concrete bunker, and he protested the whole way. "Hey," he shouted at them. "I'm _on_ your _side_, is this how the military treats its own guys? Hey! Just tell me where we're going already!"

He recognized Colonel Warnes as soon as he saw him, and some leftover part of him that was still fifteen and military brought his hand to his forehead in a sharp salute, causing him to wince at the stabbing pain that rang through his injured soldier.

The Colonel looked at him warily, raising his eyebrows. He stood in front of a board that was scribbled with detailed military strategies that made no sense to Edward. He had never fought in a war; when he was military he was fighting only for himself. "So you _are_ military," the man said, his eyes boring into Ed's own.

"Military consultant, sir," he lied.

"And what are you calling yourself?"

"Heiderich," he said shortly, sticking to the original lie. "Edward Heiderich."

"Your alchemy without a circle is remarkable," Colonel Warnes said, pacing the short length of the concrete room. "You may have turned up in time to be our saving weapon."

_A human weapon._

_Like the Colonel, his Colonel, had been in Ishbal. Destroying enemies left and right, and tortured for the rest of his life because of it._

Ed mentally shook his head. This was different. These were not civilians and they weren't innocent. They were invading the home he had worked so hard to get back to. He listened carefully as the man began to decode the scribbled on the board.

He clapped his hands together and pressed them to the ground, feeling the power surge up inside him. It was if he could see the Gate itself each time he transmuted; as if his power was infinite. He always held back since returning to his own world, he always used as little energy as he could manage to spare sucking the souls away from the other side of the Gate to fuel his transmutations. Now he let go, no barriers, to spare the souls of strangers on his own side. It felt like the time in Lior when he had been there when Scar created the Philosopher's Stone: a reaction was underway that was nearly, but not quite, out of control, but was growing bigger and more powerful and he struggled to hold onto it without holding anything back.

It would destroy the enemy as ruthlessly as they had meant to destroy his own people. _He was doing what he had to do_, he thought, and with that thought, he let just a little bit more power into the transmutation. There was always more energy to draw from, and he would always be able to control it. The wind from the reaction whipped around his face, his hair flying out behind him, and even the men he was protecting cowered in fear of him.

He felt two white-hot pains sear into his gut, and his body buckled, but he forced himself not to break the circle.

He was doing this for the people. He was the People's Alchemist.

hr 

**Note1:** I bet you didn't really think I was going to update this soon!

**Note2:** Honestly I didn't either but all this writing for NaNoWriMo has kinda got me in the flow again! (Of course, its also distracting me from the actual NaNo project, but... ah well.)

**Note3:** While I'm starting notes with "honestly," I'll just add that honestly, this chap feels a little too short to me, and not that great for all thats been leading up to it. Usually I am really particular about this fic, but I've been fussing with this chapter for a good while now and this is about all I can do with it. Sorry if it's falling flat, but, I've got ch. 10 mostly finished as well (yeah how many times have you heard that from me?) and it should be back up to par.


	15. Chapter Ten: Come Josephine In My Flying

**Chapter Ten: Come Josephine In My Flying Machine**

"_Come Josephine in my flying machine going up, she goes, up, she goes-" he sang as he rubbed himself vigorously with the washcloth. The light of early morning was filtering in through the tiny square window by the ceiling and throwing a yellowish glow onto the bathwater, and his long hair writhed beneath the surface like curls of dark gold seaweed. He wrung the washcloth out by twisting it around the faucet before he dunked his head briefly under water to rinse his face, pausing briefly mid-song. "Balance yourself like a bird on a beam, In the air she goes; there she goes!" he continued, water streaming off his head, and grinned, knowing whatever he sang sounded terrible to anyone who was listening, namely Alphonse, who actually had an ear for music_

"_Ed, shut _up!_" Alphonse bellowed predictably from outside the bathroom door, and Ed pulled the stopper in the tub and let the water drain out around him . _

_When he flung the door open, a towel wrapped around his waist and his hair hanging plastered to his back, he kept on singing, "Oh, gee, you're a fly kid, but not me, I'm a sky kid!" watching with amusement as Al cringed. _

"_Okay, look, that is a _dumb_ song" Al persisted, his hands on his hips, and Ed laughed at his attempt to sound stern while still in his pajamas. "I can't believe you listen to that old stuff. And besides," he said, laughing as Ed pushed past him, shaking his hair out as we went and spraying Al with water, "you can't carry a tune to save your life!" he called after him._

_Ed just shrugged, plopping down on the bed and taking care to thoroughly dry his metal arm. "I love you too, Alphonse," he said with a sweet smile. _

"_Think you took long enough in the shower?" Al demanded, but it was all in fun. "I'm the one who has to get to class this morning!"_

"_Sorry!" Ed hollered after him once he had grabbed his towel and shut the bathroom door. He heard Al start the shower and lay backward on their unmade bed, staring up at the cracks on the ceiling._

"This one's still breathing!" called a voice, slicing through his relaxation. The cracks on the ceiling looked sort of like clouds, he thought, like the outline of clouds, in fact, he thought he could nearly see the white-blue summer sky around them, and not his bedroom ceiling at all.

"Looks like a medic got to him, here, his shoulder's bandaged already."

"Did you check for other injuries?"

"Gunshots to the abdomen: two. Also bandaged."

"They couldn't fix up his head while they were at it?"

It was weird; it was like he was having a dream while he was awake. He could hear Al in the shower on the other side of the door but he almost thought he could feel hands on him, turning him over, pulling up his shirt- he wasn't wearing a shirt, was he? Didn't he just get out of the bathtub? His hair was still soaked, plastered to his forehead with warm, gooey water. The whole room was warm, sweltering hot even, how was that possible in the chill Munich winter? "Going up, all on," he tried to say, continuing his song, but it came out cracked and raw.

"What did he say?" asked one of those underwater voices that were swarming around him.

"Is he waking up?"

"Are you military? Or civilian?" He thought there was a face in his vision, but he wasn't sure. Maybe there were two, or three, or maybe they were just clouds, or cracks in the ceiling.

"_Oh gee, you're a fly kid-" he began again when he heard the bathroom door crack open, and saw Alphonse roll his eyes as he stepped into the room. Ed was pulling a brush through his wet hair but dropped it at his side when Al crawled onto the bed behind him and wrapped his arms around his chest. Ed immediately tensed and stopped singing. "Al?" he said questioningly, twisting around trying to face his friend._

"_That's a terrible song, Ed," he mumbled into his back, pressing his face into the other boy's flesh shoulder._

"_And that gets me a hug?" Ed asked, plainly confused._

"_Yeah."_

_After a minute Ed relaxed a little into his friends embrace. Alphonse even smelled like his brother, and it made his heart twist in his stomach. "Don't you have to go to class?" he asked, because he didn't know what else to say._

"_Yeah," Al said again, but didn't move._

"_You don't want to be late."_

_Alphonse pulled away then, sitting back on the bed and facing his friend, staring at him in the early morning light as if he wanted to commit him to memory just like that, with his wet hair in strings around his mismatched shoulders and that innocent, confused look on his face. "I wont be late," Al said softly._

_Ed saw Al looking at him and reached self-consciously for his shirt, pulling it awkwardly over his head and pulling the sleeve over his false arm. "C'mon, Al," he said uncomfortably. "What're you looking at? Don't I look the same as yesterday?"_

"_Well, yeah, but I don't get tired of looking at you."_

* * *

She had barely taken a minute to look down at herself, but when she did, Winry wasn't even surprised to see that she was covered in blood. She didn't even know who's blood it was, she hadn't taken much time to look at each injured soldier she helped; just long enough to help them in whatever way she knew how and move on to the next one.

She had always thought blood made her queasy; she didn't let it get in the way of her work: sometimes dealing with blood was necessary, in fact, it was unavoidable when performing automail installation surgery. But it was primarily the mechanics the she focused on; she had an understanding of blood vessels and nerves and muscles but only how they related to wires and electricity and metal parts.

But her knowledge was better than none at all, and she was perfectly able to tend to bullet and shrapnel wounds, however horrifying they might be. As long as she could distance herself from it, look at each wound as just damage to the human machine and not an injury to a human person, she could do what she was able and move on without thinking too much on it.

It was disgustingly un-sterile, and horribly un-well wit, and every condition present was all wrong. These men should be in a hospital, not the edge of a battlefield. There should be bright overhead lights, not portable lanterns in canvas tents. They should be in hospital beds that could be folded up and down and moved on wheels, not on bedrolls, but no one had been prepared for this attack and everyone was making due with what was available.

It was the lack of antibiotics that worried her the most. It made minor injuries into dangerous ones, and she could see her grandmother wringing her hands in her minds eye, horrified at the harmful germs that were surely thriving on every instrument she used, no matter what she did to clean them.

"Winry," came a voice from across the collection of tents. "Any more morphine in your kit?" It was Clara, the red-haired nurse that had come with the doctor from the military base.

She tied off the bandage she had been wrapping around a shallow head wound, and checked in the medic's bag she had been supplied with. "Just a little bit," she called back. "Do you need it?"

She could see the woman calculating who of her patients was in the most pain. "I'll let you know if I need it," she answered, returning to what she was doing.

She had dreaded the war coming to her before she could get away from it, but this was nothing like she had imagined it. It was right there, she could hear it, even, and as far as she knew her new hometown of Altenburg was already occupied, but she was too busy to think anything about it.

Of course, of course she couldn't have waited quietly with the rest of the passengers off the train from Altenburg, not when there were people who could use her help, but she couldn't have waited quietly regardless. She didn't want to think, and waiting quietly lead to thinking. She didn't want to think about what might happen an hour from now, a day from now, a week from now. She didn't want to think about where Al might be, what he might be doing in Central, if he was fighting or if he was safe. She didn't want to think about where Ed might be, and if this war had come anywhere near wherever he had run off to. And she didn't want to think about her parents, and how she was doing exactly what they had done in the last war. She couldn't think about that.

She tied off another bandage.

She absolutely couldn't think about that.

She couldn't cry right now. She had too many people to take care of.

* * *

The Lieutenant hurried behind the nurse through the medical tents that had been put up around the battlefield. "You said he's not military," she pressed.

The red haired nurse turned to glance behind her. "He wasn't wearing a uniform, and he's an alchemist. There were no alchemists with the units that were deployed here." She grasped the arm of a passing doctor. "Dr. Parson, this is Lieutenant Ross, she just got here from Central. She came with the medical caravans."

The young man nodded distractedly, sifting through some boxes that had been unloaded in his particular tent. "The supplies are a big help, Lieutenant," he said, his voice rushed. "We were losing a lot of men due to infection since we simply didn't have enough antibiotics. Most of these soldiers really need to be transported to a hospital, but the General says we don't have a safe passage yet."

"Doctor," Ross said firmly, commanding his attention. "I've come to see the alchemist responsible for the transmutation. I was told he was under your care."

The doctor stood up, wiping his brow, and faced the woman. He gestured around the large medical tent. "Everyone here is under my care," he said, and clearly by his expression he was stretched thin as it was. "The alchemist, the alchemist… the little guy with the automail," he said, as if he was speaking to himself. His expression became serious. "Lieutenant…?"

"Ross," she supplied again.

"Ross," he repeated. "Your mystery alchemist saved the life of every man in here. That's what the survivors are saying. But his condition is serious," he told her frankly. He motioned for him to follow him along the narrow corridor between the rows of beds. "He was wounded several times, shot twice in the stomach and once in the shoulder, and he's running a fever. There's been some damage to his automail that I can't even begin to know how to look at that. Like I said, we didn't have enough antibiotics," he repeated. "Get some of those into these men and all of their chances will improve. Infection is a deadly thing." He looked at her soberly. "Although I don't know much about alchemy, I'm sure a transmutation with the magnitude he managed to pull off would drain the reserves of even a healthy person. And they're saying he did it _after_ he was wounded." He pulled aside the thin sheet that made a makeshift curtain around the cot.

She gasped. His skin had a pale grey cast to it, and he seemed so small, under the sheets, and thin. A grimy bandage was wrapped around his forehead the side of his face, hiding one eye and speckled with blood that had seeped through. His hair was a dull brown color; whether from dirt or blood or some combination of both, she wasn't sure, and the ends of it looked like they had been burnt or singed or something. He gave a low moan, and she jumped.

The blonde nurse who had been sitting at his bedside slipped a chip of ice between his lips, and he quieted for a moment. "Mr. Heiderich, there's someone here to see you," she said softly, and his eyes flickered open.

_Mr. Heiderich?_ Maria Ross pondered that, then pushed it to the back of her mind for later thought. This was most definitely Edward, of that she was certain.

"The moon is on fire, Al," he said, his voice hoarse. His eyes never stayed on one object for more than a few seconds. "I'm drunk, Al, and there are ghosts everywhere."

She felt a chill that began at the base of her skull and traveled agonizingly downward. She knelt at the side of his bed, placing a hand on his flesh shoulder. "I'm not a ghost, sir," she whispered.

His head rolled to the side, not acknowledging her. "Al, you're the fly kid," muttered, his eyes bright with delirium. "But not me, I'm a sky kid! Gonna fly all the way up, home, a little bit higher. Up, up, the moon is on fire! Balance yourself like a bird on a beam in my flying machine going up, all on, miss Josephine-"

"Edward," Maria said gently. "Edward, listen to me, everything is going to be all right now, the medical supply trucks got through. You're going to be just fine."

"He can't hear you," said the doctor, "he hasn't regained consciousness since he was brought in." He studied the woman carefully and debated whether or not to speak the next sentence. Finally he said, "Lieutenant, whoever he is, he may not have much time. There's only so much I can do out here, away from a hospital. If you know his identity-" he saw her glance up, protest clear in her eyes, but he continued. "you may want to notify his next of kin."

"He's going to be fine," she said, steeling her expression. "He's going to be just fine." She stood up. "The supplies we brought are only a temporary solution. General Hawkeye is securing a safe passage for the troops back into safe territory." She pulled the curtain closed with a swift motion. _Hopefully it will be in time,_ she prayed silently. Out loud, but in a hushed tone, she asked the nurse, "Why did you call him Mr. Heiderich?"

The young woman paused, pressing her lips together, and glanced back at the now obscured figure in the bed. "That's they told us his name was, ma'am. Edward Heiderich. He's from the village just north of here. All the soldiers said the same thing about him, that he just showed up in the middle of the battle and started fighting. They didn't even know he was an alchemist the first day. And then, when they thought all hope was lost, he started ordering everyone to retreat back. They didn't want to listen to him, but eventually they did, and he- well, they just said he transmuted. They didn't say what he transmuted, or how, or anything like that. But the few left on the enemy side that weren't killed retreated, and the battle was over." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "He is the Fullmetal Alchemist, isn't he?" she pressed.

Ross opened her mouth, then closed it again, not sure how to respond.

"That automail, that blond hair, and plus he's so small, and looks so young… it has to be him. Isn't it?"

The Lieutenant Colonel sighed worriedly. "I'm sorry, I'm not at liberty to speculate as to our mystery friend's identity. That is the official answer I was ordered to give from Central." _That was the answer I was to give if it really was Edward,_ she thought. If it was someone else, I suppose I could just say 'no.' "But I think his actions have proved that he is indeed a friend, and if he says his name is Heiderich, I think we should believe him, shouldn't we?"

The other nurse, the one with the red hair, Clara, was fairly certain the man in the bed was the same boy who had captured her in Aquaroya so many years before. She had met many people during her escapades, and he had certainly changed, but she had seen his eyes flicker open a few times, and they were amber-gold, just like she remembered. "Of course," she said softly. "Edward Heiderich it is."

* * *

"_I never get tired of looking at you."_

_Ed swallowed, looking away and feeling his cheeks burning. _I never get tired of looking at you._ From his brother, he would take that as forgiveness. Even after all he did to the person he loved most, Al would love him completely. Al would never get tired of looking at him. Al would never look away in disgust at his pride and sin and destruction. Al would never want to be apart from him, despite the horrible things he had done._

_That was a dream, of course. It was a dream Ed never allowed himself to have, that dream of forgiveness. He didn't even know if his brother was alive, although he hoped beyond hope that he was. Life was too much to ask for as it was; there was nothing that could be sacrificed that would equal a life. Forgiveness, Ed feared, was out of the question._

_But these things he was thinking as he looked into the face of the man who would have been his brother in another life; another world. It was Al's facial structure, Al's voice he spoke with, and Al's mannerisms he moved with. He had wanted so badly, and for so long, ever since that horrible day when they were children, just to feel his brother's skin once more, to touch, hand to hand, cheek to cheek, and it had been so long now that it was becoming more like a dream to him than reality._

_There were fingers under his chin, lifting his face, and he let his eyes rise to meet Al's pale blue ones. Al was scanning his friend's face, searching for something, and when he thought he found it he lowered his lids half-way, keeping two fingers under Ed's chin, and pressed his lips to the pair in front of him._

_Ed could not pull away. He _could_ not. He could never pull away from Alphonse. He felt the boy's warm, hesitant lips on his own, lingering, wondering, and slowly, he parted them, and felt the guilt wash over him like a damn that had broken, flooding his very being with the sense that he was doing something very, very wrong._

_But when Al drew back his smile was so sweet, and his eyes shone, and he was so _happy_, the way Ed always wanted to see Al, no matter which Al it was, that he leaned in for another kiss, mouth to mouth, chest to chest, tumbling back into the pillows on the bed. _

* * *

"Lieutenant Colonel Elric!" snapped a voice, and Al stood and saluted before he even saw who it was in the doorway. He hadn't slept the night before, or much the night before that. Central was barely under control, and information on the situation in the north was sketchy at best. He has spoken to Winry the night he called her, but hadn't heard anything since then, and of course he hadn't heard a word from his brother in nearly two months.

"Sir, there's new information from intelligence about the attacks in the north; you had requested to be informed should anything change," said the young major. The man was nearly five years older than Alphonse, but he was the second youngest State Alchemist in the military. Al tried to remember what the man's specialty was, but his brain was just too tired. "General Mustang is requesting your presence," the man added, and Al nodded.

"Thank you," he said politely, nodding to the major and heading to the General's office.

When he saw him, he thought the general looked even more tired, more exhausted, and more worried than he did. "Close the door, Alphonse," he said seriously, and, frowning, Al did as he was directed. It was unusual for him to call him by his first name in a military setting; Roy was his commanding officer, and although he was closely tied to both Elrics, Al had always thought it sounded odd when he and his brother called each other "Ed" and "Roy." Ed had always said it was because they were friends, and because he wasn't military anymore, but Roy and Al had never really had that sort of relationship. He respected the man, and admired him, but at the same time was also wary of him. He was difficult to read, and Al could never be sure of his motives.

"I need to know where your brother is," the general said quietly.

Al frowned. "Why?" he asked bluntly.

"Because the government has assigned me the task of finding him, that's why," the man said calmly.

He didn't leave the doorway, his back to the closed door and his hand still on the doorknob. He drew his eyebrows down over his grey eyes. "Why?" he asked again.

"Because your brother has done a poor job of hiding himself since his return, and I think you'll agree that it will be better for all of us if he's 'found' by me and not by someone else."

Al folded his arms, his expression still guarded. "I'd say he's doing a pretty decent job of hiding himself if you have to ask me where he is," he countered coolly, suspicious both of the military's sudden interest in what had previously been dismissed as nothing but a rumor.

General Mustang stood, pushing his chair away from his desk, and went to stand by the window of his office. "He was most recently spotted in East City, but he's been seen all over the country. I need to know what he's doing, Al, or I can't protect him."

"Protect him?" Al scoffed. "From what?"

The black haired man turned to look him, ticking off on his fingers his brother's offenses. "Well, since he's been declared dead all these years, they'll say he faked his own death. He'd be considered a military deserter, and then there's the whole Lior situation-"

Al folded his arms in front of himself. "_You_ are the one who put the blame on him for that, General," he said angrily. "You and I both know he had no control over that situation, but you let it go on record that he was responsible to save your own ass-"

"I thought he was _dead_!" Roy said, but shuddered inwardly as he tried to use that defense on the younger Elric. It was something he had never been proud of, but being part of the military, he had long since learned, sometimes meant choosing the lesser of two evils.

"Well I don't know where he is," Al spat. Leave it up to the General to dredge up old hard feelings in a time of need. _What of it?_ he demanded of himself. He was telling the truth, he had no idea where his brother was, and- what was he doing in East City anyway? If so many people had spotted him in so many different places, well, then maybe he deserved to be found out.

Roy raised his only eyebrow. "I know you want to protect him, Al, and believe me, I want to do the same-"

Al was shaking his head. "It's no use trying to convince me, General Mustang," he told the man, his arms still folded, his back still against the door. "I really don't know where he is. I haven't heard from him." _I haven't heard from him since I punched him in the jaw, called him a sick fuck, and told him I wished he had never come back._

He closed his hand around the doorknob. "If you'll excuse me, General, I have things I need to do."

"You can go," Roy said stiffly. "But Alphonse," he added when the young man was halfway out the door, "you can trust me."

Al didn't answer him.

* * *

"Miss Rockbell," Dr. Parsons called after her, catching her just as she was hefting a suitcase over one shoulder and her daughter up on her hip.

She looked at him quizzically, not recognizing him right away.

He held his hand out to shake. "I wanted to thank you for your help here in the hospital."

"Oh, Dr. Parsons!" she said finally. "I didn't realize it was you at first, without your lab coat and surgical mask!"

He smiled at her. "Well I'd recognize your blue eyes anywhere. Really, I don't know how we could have done so well without you."

Not knowing what to say, she stammered, "Well, I, ah, you see, my parents were both doctors, and I, well-"

He grew serious at that. "I thought your name was familiar, yes, Drs. Rockbell. I'm so sorry."

She really didn't want to talk about her parents, and didn't know why she had even mentioned them. "It was a long time ago now," she said graciously, although just as serious.

He looked at her thoughtfully. "There aren't many women mechanics out there, Rockbell, hmm. You wouldn't be related to-"

She grinned. "Pinako Rockbell, yes. She was my grandmother." She bounced Kaiya on her hip. "And this is my daughter Kaiya."

The doctor looked down at the little girl in her arms. "Very pleased to meet you, Kaiya."

Kaiya looked up at her mother. "Centra, Mommy. Go to Centra now?"

"Yes, baby, we're going to Central now."

"We could certainly use you here at the hospital," the doctor told her. "Dillon is perfectly safe now, we have the military base right here. You don't need to go all the way to Central."

"Yes Centra!" Kaiya told him vehemently, and the doctor laughed.

Winry shook her head. "Her father is waiting for us in Cenral," she told him. "We promised we would meet him there." She turned to her daughter. "Right baby?"

"Daddy Centra!" Kaiya agreed.

"How old is she?" the doctor asked curiously.

"She's almost two," Winry told him.

"She's certainly talking a lot for her age," he said, and she smiled proudly.

"I think it's genetic," she said with a smile. "You try getting an Elric to shut up."

By the time the good doctor had made the connection, it was too late, Winry and Kaiya were already on the first train out of Dillon and he was back in the hospital tending the wounded.

* * *

Within a few days he was moved to the small hospital in Dillon, along with the other more severely injured soldiers. Too small to accommodate the military's needs, the hospital had been extended into the town's school, the town hall, and the church. General Hawkeye herself was present, making her rounds visiting the wounded before leading her remaining troops for a counter attack. Maria Ross's report on Edward had gone directly to General Mustang in Central and had bypassed her entirely. She knew they had a mystery ally on the battlefield that day, but that was all she knew, and she had dismissed all rumors as simply that, rumors.

When she found herself at the unmarked door to the tiny room, it was the doctor who told her which patient she was about to see. "It's the alchemist from Dillon," he told her, because that was how he had been officially identified. "His name's Edward Heiderich, your resident battlefield hero." He watched her curiously, but she simply nodded and opened the door.

She hoped her shock wasn't visible when she realized who the pale form in the bed was. His eyes were closed, and his hair, cleaner now than it had been in the field hospital, was cut very short. The side of his face was bruised and a line of stitches went across his forehead, and a line from an IV was taped to the inside of his flesh arm. His breathing was shallow, but he either wasn't asleep or the slight noise of the door opening woke him, because he opened one eye. The other one was swollen shut. She turned to the doctor. "Leave us," she whispered.

The young doctor nodded, exiting the room and smiling to himself. The General's reaction was proof enough: the wounded man in the bed was not just some heroic townsperson. He was a powerful and dangerous member of the military who had been hiding out in this small village. Perhaps he had been hiding for several years. Perhaps he really was the Fullmetal Alchemist.

"Edward, you look terrible," she began.

He flinched. "Thanks," he said weakly.

"They said you were shot."

"I was," he confirmed, lifting his head and pushing himself up on the pillows a bit. Now half sitting up, he pulled the blanket down and lifted his paper hospital shirt, showing her the two squares of bandages taped to his side. "More than once, too."

Her lips turned down in a small frown. "Why didn't you tell anyone who you were?" she asked, concerned. "We could have gotten you out of that field hospital sooner. The doctor told me you almost died there!"

His expression was pained. "A lot of people did die there, Lieutenant, er, General. I'm not even military, why should I get special treatment?"

She widened her eyes. "Because you saved an entire town from being invaded, and you saved the lives of half my troops on the battlefield," she told him crisply.

"And the other half of them are dead," he said flatly. When he saw the sorrow in her eyes, he regretted it immediately.

"I know," she said softly. "But that isn't your fault. We were attacked. We weren't expecting it. There was nothing more we could do. If you weren't there, it would have been much worse." She eyed him curiously. "What were you doing out here in Dillon in the first place?" she inquired. "I thought you at home with Winry."

She watched his pained expression, and hated knowing she was only causing him more worry. "Altenburg was attacked before Dillon," he whispered. "They're saying the town is occupied now, what-"

"There's a good chance Winry left before the invasion," she told him quietly. "General Mustang said there was information in the Central headquarters that never reached us in the north warning us of the attacks. Alphonse made a call to Winry the night before the invasion began."

"Did she get out?" he asked her quietly.

"It's possible," she allowed.

"But the rail lines are all blown up," he remembered. "There was that round of terrorist bombings that the military covered up to keep people from panicking."

"Some of them were repaired."

"_Fuck_," he hissed, squeezing his eyes shut. "What about Al?"

"Still in Central," she said firmly, glad she could genuinely reassure him of at least his brother's safety. "Edward, now that we know where you are, I'm sure Al will find a way to contact you as soon as he hears anything…"

"Al won't want to talk to me," he said, his voice sounding hollow, and turned his head away from her.

Frowning, she looked down at him in the bed. That didn't sound right. Why wouldn't Al want to talk to him? "All the communication lines are repaired," she started. "Do you want me to send anyone a message for you?"

"No," he said at first. Then, "Just…" he thought for a minute, biting his lower lip. "Let anyone who knows I'm alive know that I still am. That's all. Don't tell them where I am."

General Hawkeye couldn't bring herself to agree to that, but she pulled a chair over to the side of the bed and sat down. "Edward?"

He covered his eyes with his flesh arm and sighed, moving it behind his head. "Hm?"

"You never said what you were doing in Dillon in the first place."

"I know."

She paused, debating whether or not to press the issue. It really wasn't important, at least not professionally, and perhaps this wasn't the time or the place to discuss personal issues. Ed wasn't a boy anymore, he was an adult, and maybe it wasn't any of her business what was going on in his life. Years ago she would have felt differently, but things had changed since then. She started to stand up, but stopped, half out of her seat, when he spoke up.

"I didn't want anyone else to get hurt," he blurted out.

She sat back down. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

"All I've been doing, ever since I've been back, is hurting the people I love," he said quickly, hatefully, disgustedly. He turned to look her in the eyes, and she was struck by how destroyed his expression was. It wasn't just that he was pale, it wasn't just the circles under his eyes and the stitches on his forehead and the yellowish bruises on his face.

"What do you mean, you were hurting everyone?" she questioned, trying to speak as gently as possible. She did know a very little about what had been going on in the Elric-Rockbell household since Ed had returned, but she didn't want to make any guesses. "Al missed you so much while you were gone all those years, I'm sure he was happy to have you back," she assured him. She pressed her lips together. She was no good at this. "Did you quarrel?" she asked finally.

He looked down at the bed. "Not exactly," he said to the sheets. Automail fingers fiddled with the edge of the hospital blanket for a minute before he said, "I think Kaiya might be my daughter." He looked up. "I don't know if you knew that or not."

She nodded. "Winry told me the same thing," she told him.

He clenched his jaw, and his eyes burned. "Kaiya's not a baby anymore, you know. She's started walking, and she was even talking a little bit when I left. She calls Winry 'Mama" and me 'Edo' and Al 'Dada.' Everyone says she has my eyes," he told her in a rush of words.

"What about your brother?" Hawkeye asked gently.

"I can't believe I hurt him like this!" he said miserably. "I can't believe I hurt Kaiya like this! People are talking, and eventually someone is going to ask her who's child she is. What is she going to say? She's going to live with these rumors her entire life, she's going to grow up with them, and they're going to follow her everywhere. All because of one stupid, selfish act!" He blushed suddenly, embarrassed thinking about his night with Winry in front of Hawkeye. "All my life, growing up, I hated my father for leaving us, but this is even-" he began, but he stopped, as if he was too disgusted to continue. Then, his voice very quiet, he added, "I feel like I never should have come back."

She watched him staring down at the sheets and part of her started to say something comforting, but he spoke again.

"I haven't done a single thing I can be proud of, not in this world! I don't deserve him, I don't deserve a family, I don't deserve anything! I wish I could just… disappear!"

"So you just left them," she said quietly.

He nodded. "It was the best thing I could do," he said, his voice equally quiet, unable to meet her eyes.

_Sometimes leaving the ones you love might be easiest, but that doesn't make it right,_ she wanted to tell him, but she couldn't bring herself to give advice she herself couldn't even follow. "Love is selfish, isn't it," she said instead, standing up. "And you've been hiding out in Dillon all this time, letting them wonder where you are and if you're all right?"

He nodded again.

"If anyone asks me where you are, I'm telling them where to find you. It isn't fair of you to abandon your family like this," she said finally, knowing her voice sounded cold, but thinking he didn't seem to notice.

"I didn't abandon them! I-" he winced, clutching his bandaged side.

"Good day, Mr. Heiderich," she said, forcing herself to end the conversation. She had a lot of things to attend to before she left Dillon. "The military thanks you for your assistance."

He stared at the closed door after she left. She was right, of course. Love is selfish. Everything he'd ever done had been selfish. And look where it had gotten him.

* * *

Ed flinched as he sat forward in the hospital bed, the wounds to his stomach sending red-hot stabs of pain through his gut seemingly every time he tried to move.

"Sit still, Mr. Heiderich," the nurse Clara admonished sharply, watching him in amusement as he glared at her like an unhappy child. He had recognized her, she knew, and she felt like they were simply playing a game where she was a nurse and he was a patient, when in truth they were both alchemists. "The less you move, the less this will hurt." She was changing the bandages on his abdomen and left shoulder.

"Ow!" he said roughly, pulling away. "That stings!" he hissed, clutching his stomach when he moved.

"Don't be such a baby," she teased. "You have that automail, I'm sure this is nothing compared to that surgery."

"Urgh, don't remind me of that!" he groaned, but stayed still, resigned to letting her clean his wounds with the antiseptic solution that stung so horribly. "Are you done yet?" he said impatiently.

"Stay still!" she repeated, but she was laughing at him. "I'll never finish if you keep moving!" After another few minutes she said, "all finished. That wasn't so bad, was- hey! You can't get up yet!" she protested, but he was slowly dropping his feet to the floor, clutching his stomach with his metal hand as he slid from the bed.

"Oh, shit," he mumbled, stepping down a few times with his metal foot. The nurse frowned as he muttered something else about finding his mechanic.

"Unless you can get ahold of your mechanic and convince him to travel out here, that's going to have to wait," she said sternly. "Now get back in that bed-" she gasped when the door flew open, revealing the second military general to visit the hospital in Dillon since the battle had ended.

"Oh shit," Edward said again, wanting to flop back onto the bed but he was afraid of the shooting pains in his gut. Then, mockingly, rolling his eyes, he saluted, half standing, with his automail hand.

"General Mustang!" the nurse said unnecessarily.

"I have come to retrieve the Fullmetal Alchemist!" the General announced, his face a blank, entirely ignoring Ed's half-assed salute. "Edward Elric, you are to report with me to Central at once, I have a car waiting for us just outside."

Ed's eyes flew open. "Wha- Roy! You said- the president said-" he stammered, looking utterly betrayed. Clara watched the scene closely, keeping her face carefully expressionless. "_You told me_ not to tell anyone who I was!"

"This is Edward Heiderich, sir," said the red-haired nurse, intent on keeping up the illusion if that was what Ed wanted to do. "He lives here in Dillon. It's a remarkable resemblance, don't you think?"

The man in the blue uniform did not wink, did not look over at Ed sidelong, like an old friend. He merely said smugly, "I've also been given orders to retrieve Edward Heiderich, should I happen to learn his location as well." His voice was cool, but something did flicker across his smooth expression when he saw Ed's balance sway when he moved to take a step forward.

The nurse had practically flown to her patient's side, supporting him to keep him upright.

The General was looking at him critically. "Are you well enough to travel, _Mr._ Heiderich?" he asked, concern creeping through his mask of arrogance.

"Fuck you," Ed spat, at the same time the nurse was shaking her head vehemently. "I'm not going anywhere with you, you arrogant bastard, unless you tell me what got you to change your mind so quickly."

"He's not going anywhere, period," Clara said forcefully, taking her role as a nurse seriously. "He's been shot _three times_, sir, he can't be moved until he heals!"

Ed jerked out of her grip, taking a step and grabbing a hold of the beside table when his automail knee whirred and sputtered, buckling when it should have held.

This time it was Roy gripping him under the flesh elbow, having no idea he was sending pain shooting through the injured shoulder. "Can I trust you?" he blond hissed at him, his eyes for once unobscured by their usual fringe of bangs, pleading for Roy to drop the act and give him some explanation.

This time the concern was completely unveiled. Roy hadn't stopped to talk to the doctor when he strode into the military hospital announcing who he was and who he was looking for, and he wasn't expecting to find Ed in such a shape as this. "Can you even stand?" he asked bluntly.

"How important is it that I go with you?" Ed countered, piercing Roy with his gaze.

"Very," he said tightly. "I'm not the only one looking for you."

That was all Ed had been waiting to hear. He pressed his hands together, lightly, as to not over-jar his injured shoulder, and then pressed them to his automail knee. Both Roy and Clara could see the metal shifting and re-arranging itself under his touch.

"Did you just -_alchemize_- your _automail_?" Roy demanded, slightly horrified.

Ed flinched, but took a step, and his balance held. "Yeah," he said shortly. "Winry'd kill me if she ever found out," he added. "So, how much of a show to we need to make this grand exit of mine?"

Roy looked at him haughtily. "I'd tell you to just come quietly, but I don't think you're capable of that," he said, his single eye flashing with the humor Ed had been looking for ever since the general burst through the door with that cold mask of his.

"Damn straight," Ed agreed.

Clara took careful note of the exchange, and, she was thankful, she was able to fade into the background during the uproar Ed's "capture" had caused.

* * *

**Note1:** booya! Finally finished uploading all old fic!

**Note2:** So, lets see, what do I feel the need to explain? Well, for one thing, part one is starting to draw to a close. That means there's a part two that's just as long as part one, so, yeah, hang on for the ride!

**Note3:** If you're wondering what's up with Hawkeye, yeah, I know it's been a long time since "Friends and Lovers" but basically, she sees that Ed is reacting to an argument/misunderstanding with someone/someones he loves and cares about much the same she has in the past (and she regrets it) and that's why she's acting the way she is.

**Note4:** Another short chapter, but #shrugs# that's just the way it turned out. I didn't want to clutter it up too much.


	16. Zwischenziet V: Yet Alive, Ever Living

**Zwischenzeit V: Yet Alive, Ever Living**

_Ed still alive_

_Al still alive_

_blue uniforms_

_Mr. Hassan Mr. General Mustang – someone important to Ed, but – were they lovers?_

_Al lieutenant, Ed what?_

_Was Ed ever in the military? How? As a child? With false limbs? impossible What kind of world has children fighting in wars?_

_Al, Ed military alchemists? Alchemy weapon? How dangerous?_

_Bethan town in Ed's world – Ed's town?_

_Ed's world war, unsafe, chaos_

_Homunculus legend, golem, miniature human, animated by alchemy, impossible, dangerous_

_Envy shape shifter_

_Ed missing?_

_Ed back in Munich somewhere?_

Alphonse stared down at the sheet of paper on his desk. _I wish you had told me the truth Ed. I would have believed you. I would have believed anything you said. I loved you._ He crumbled the paper into a ball and tossed it on the growing pile beside his bed. Ed would never return to Munich. Even if it was possible. Was it possible? Alphonse shook his head. It didn't matter if alchemy could do such a thing or not. Ed wouldn't do that. All he ever wanted was to return to his brother. He didn't care about rockets, he didn't care about Germany, he didn't care about him. He was just a substitute, an imitation, a look-alike. A nothing.

He was nothing.

He had always been nothing.

Ed only made him feel like he was something. And that had only ever been a lie.

He found himself idly sketching designs on the surface of his desk. Once it had been rocket designs that would seep from his pencil when he was deep in thought; now it was those alchemy circles he had found in the margins of Ed's notes. He didn't know what they meant or what they were for. There was no one there to ask.

It wasn't that he didn't believe Ed ever loved him.

He leaned across the desk and blew out the only remaining candle. The room was dark.

Ed had loved him, he had said so, and that much wasn't a lie.

It was just that his love was nothing compared to the love Ed felt for his brother.


	17. Chapter Eleven: Hanging In The Balance

b Hanging In The Balance /b 

Roy gripped the steering wheel of the military issued car tightly, his expression grim and his thoughts racing. His original plan had been to drive directly to Central's headquarters and come strolling in the front door with the Fullmetal Alchemist at his side; make a grand entrance, the Flame and the Fullmetal, ready to save Amestris from chaos and invasion. He had been planning on filling Ed in, as best he dared, on the drive there, and feeling him out, trying to determine the best way to convince him to go along with his plans. This plan, however, was in need of some reworking, he soon realized, once it became obvious how seriously injured his former subordinate really was.

"You need to lie down," he told the younger man, not for the first time. Ed was pale and a sheen of sweat covered his face, and Roy glanced worriedly over at him as many times as he dared while still focusing on the road ahead of them..

"Fuck you, General," Ed said sharply, but his eyes were closed. "I've been through worse."

"We should stop somewhere, get you a good night's sleep at least," Roy pressed. "I don't think bringing you to Central right now is the best-"

"You said you needed to find me before someone else did. So you did. End of story," Ed snapped, turning his forehead into the cool glass of the window.

"Hardly," Roy said dryly. "Besides, what good are you to me like that? You can barely walk," he pointed out.

"So take me to a mechanic," Ed mumbled into the door, his head dropping.

"Once we get to Central I'll look for Miss Rockbell-"

"You know what? Screw that, I'll fix it myself. Don't look... for her..." he protested, his voice trailing off.

Roy frowned, concerned both by what he said and by the fading quality of his words. He needed Ed to be alert and aware when they reached Central; it was a different city from what Ed had seen last he needed him to absorb that fact and work with it accordingly. Edward had already insisted he was no longer military, but Roy was counting on the fact that it was a mindset that one could never completely shake, and that despite his initial reluctance Ed would prove to be the valuale resource he hoped he would be.

Abruptly, he took a turn off the main road, risking another glance over at the blond in his passenger seat, but Ed didn't seem to notice they had deviated from the most direct route. In fact, Ed didn't seem to be aware of anything at all. He drove slowly through the small town, pulling the car up in front of what looked like a fairly reputable inn, and left it running while he went inside to inquire about a room, Ed's stubbornness be damned.

hr 

The sight of Al in a military uniform stopped startling her years ago, ages ago even, but her distrust for the military never completely went away. She was uneasy with the military escorts Al had sent to the train station to meet her and Kaiya, and wary of getting into their car, and Kaiya was fussing and in desperate need of a nap by the time they arrived in Central.

It was another baking-hot day, and she could feel the sweat trickling down the back of her neck, and even in the mid-day heat it gave her the shivers, and Kaiya whined when she felt her mother shudder, and struggled to get down.

"I don't think so," she told her daughter sternly. "I can't have you running all over Central station."

"Daddy? Daddy?" her child asked, over and over again, like she had been repeating the entire way there.

One of the military escorts, a woman, turned and said brightly, "Oh, you'll see your daddy soon enough. He sent us to make sure you got home safely."

Winry pulled her daughter tighter as she ducked to get into the car. The other escort shut the door after her. "How old's the baby, ma'am?" the other escort asked, and it took her a moment to realize he was speaking to her.

i Since when have I become a 'ma'am'? /i she wondered. "Almost two," she answered, but distantly. Kaiya was banging her grubby hands on the window, making a opaque cloud on the formerly clear and polished glass, and she took one hand and captured both of her daughter's in her own, and Kaiya let out a loud whine again. "Shh," she said sharply. "Be good for Daddy."

She had felt so i together /i on the base in Dillon, taking control, taking over what she could, doing her part, getting things done, having a function, and now, sitting in the back of the military car, she felt like she was in a half-dream, half-memory, part nightmare, part reality. She had taken what she could carry and run to Central once before, to Al, who had been waiting for her then the way he was waiting for her now. She had been alone that time, and had arrived covered in grease, on a souped-up tractor with a truck's engine she had stolen from an abandoned barn a few towns south of Rizembool. She would never do something like that now, not with her daughter in tow, not alone. Who would watch Kaiya while she was up to her elbows in machine oil? It wouldn't have been possible.

No, this time she was arriving, if not rested, at least showered, but she felt no more at ease than she had the first time. The first time she had been afraid, but this time she knew what she was afraid i of /i . She was afraid she's see Al with that haunted expression she guessed any soldier might get after a battle, something she never imagined she'd see on her young friend and lover's face, something she had seen only a few times but that had frightened her more than she was able to explain.

She was afraid of more nights of Al waking up shaking, with nightmares of that thing he called the "Gate" mixed in with visions of enemies perishing under his hands; she was afraid of feeling helpless as her country crashed down around her; she was afraid she'd never be able to give her daughter the kind of childhood she'd had: happy, peaceful, in the countryside where it was i safe /i . Wars killed people.

Wars killed parents.

And left children orphans.

Alphonse was waiting for her when the military car pulled to a halt. He wasn't wearing one of those blue uniforms; he was wearing a pale green button down shirt and khaki pants, and his bronze-colored hair was neatly combed and pulled back. His face lit up with pure delight as his daughter cried "Daddy!" and bolted from the car and her mother's arms, and she watched him scoop her up like she weighed nothing and fling her up into the air, catching her and pulling her close to him on her way down.

With Kaiya in his one arm, leaning happily against his shoulder, he outstretched his other arm to Winry. "It isn't much," he said by way of greeting. "But it's the best I could do for you on short notice like this." She felt his hand on the small of her back, and it wasn't weird, or awkward, or guilt-inducing. It was comforting.

He led through a door with chipped paint, up a narrow cement stairway, to a metal door with a peephole in the center with a peeling number i 12 /i displayed prominently on its front, and slid Kaiya down to the floor so that he could reach in his pocket for a ring of keys. He used one to open the door and pushed it open, letting Winry and Kaiya go inside first.

"Here," he said from behind her, holding out the keys. "These are yours." She took them, wordlessly, and watched him disappear into the narrow hallway to the left of the living room. "There's only two bedrooms," he said, and she could hear the apology in his voice. "And Kaiya's getting older… I thought she should have her own room." She caught up with him, and saw him standing in the center of a closet-sized room with a little girl's bed in the corner and a small set of drawers against the one wall. He was rubbing the back of his head with his hand, under his ponytail, a gesture that reminded her i so much /i of his brother, and one she had never seen him use before. "The other room's yours," he added unnecessarily, and she let her eyes flick towards the doorway. "I'll sleep on the couch if you want," he said quickly. "Although."

Here he stopped, and she looked at him quizzically.

Kaiya had followed them into the bedroom and she began pulling the drawers open and shut, open and shut again, banging them and scowling. "Mommy, go home?" she said when Winry grabbed her hands to stop her banging. "Daddy, go home?"

They glanced at each other. Neither of them knew if their house in Altenburg was even i there /i anymore. Al couched down in front of her. "We're going to stay here for a little while," he told her gently.

"No!" she said, bringing her small hand down on his knee. "No, no, no, home, Kaiya i home! /i " Al tried to wrap his arms around her but she squirmed away, running down the little hall and into the rest of the apartment, and he went after her.

"She needs to go to bed," Winry called after him, but her words were drowned out by her daughter's screaming. She stayed in the bedroom, looking out the small, square window at the city sidewalk. There were two soldiers stationed on every corner, each with a heavy gun slung over his shoulder. She turned away. Kaiya's screams had died quickly down to wimpering, and Al appeared again in the doorway with her in his arms. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and would not let him pull her away to put her in the bed, so Al stopped trying, kicking his shoes off and crawling into the little bed himself and leaning back on the pink pillows. He was crooning something unfamiliar under his breath, his attention fully on his daughter, and Winry frowned, leaning closer. i What was that he was singing? /i It wasn't anything she had heard from her parents, or her grandmother, or from his parents either.

When Kaiya's breathing was even and silent, instead of putting her down in her bed Al simply raised his grey eyes to hers, still humming under his breath. He lifted his eyebrows very slightly, his expression steady, and she felt her shoulders slump. As if it was automatic, she let herself crawl into the remaining space in the little bed, resting her cheek against her daughter's and her head on Al's shoulder.

She could fall asleep like that. She could fall asleep in a child-sized bed, the three of them, all on top of each other, like they had when they were children. She suddenly realized how exhausted the past few days had made her, and felt her eyelids slowly closing, and she let herself drift off before she could turn her head and ask Al what he had been about to say, ask Al if everything was going to be all right, ask Al if he had heard from his brother- and ask him where he had learned that song.

She had the eerie feeling she was falling asleep to a lullaby from another world, but she was too tired for it to make any difference.

hr 

Roy left the car running with Ed sleeping against the window as he straightened his uniform and strode inside, showing his watch as he entered the front room of the small inn.

"No room," the grey-haired man at the desk said succinctly, chewing the end of a toothpick and not looking up from his newspaper.

The General let the watch clink against the counter when he set it down, the chain crumbling down on top of the round metal disc, and said, "this is official military business, you are required by law to put us up for the night." He knew he sounded a pompous ass, but he also knew that more often than not, that was what the situation called for.

The man did look up then, taking in the blue uniform, but returned immediately to his paper. "No room," he repeated. "'Nother inn next town east."

"You will be compensated for the inconvenience," Roy said smoothly, as if his request hadn't been rejected at all, taking his book of government bank vouchers from within his breast pocket and wrote out a sizable sum, putting it on the desk beside his watch.

"Whole government's in shambles," the man said in a monotone. "Pretty soon that scrap won't be worth shit."

"Then you'd better cash it quickly," he grated out, his patience wearing thin. "I need two beds, for one night, then we'll be out of your hair."

The man reached into a drawer and threw two metal keys marked i 11 /i and i 12 /i on their handles onto the counter, and, when Roy did not take them immediately, he pushed them towards him.

"Go on then," the man said. "Get out of my lobby and into your rooms. Your presence is bad for business, don't want my regular customers seeing you here."

Roy pushed a hand through his dark hair. "We have no intentions of disturbing anyone," he assured the man, too preoccupied to glare arrogantly down at him, and took the keys, returning outside to fetch his wayward alchemist from the front of his military issue car.

"Come on, Ed," Roy groaned, trying to coax him back into wakefullness. He managed to drag him out of the passenger seat and into a standing position, all the while being careful not to jostle any of his injuries, but that was where his abilities stalled. "I can't pick you up, you know," he muttered, slapping lighty at the pale cheek.

"Cut 't ow, Roy," came the vague protest from the sleeping blond.

"Fullmetal, wake up," Roy said, his voice sharper. "Just long enough to get inside, then you can sleep all you want."

One eye cracked open. "Thought we were goin'a Central?"

"Yeah, we're almost there, just stopping over for the night," Roy assured him, thankful that Ed's conciousness was beginning to surface after all. He had been half afraid the younger man had been slipping into a coma, going by the half-concious utterances he had been offering on and off all through the drive. "I got us some rooms, come on, there's a nice bed waiting for you upstairs."

"Not 'p stairs, automail's busted," came the mumbled protest, but both eyes were beginning to flutter open and stay that way, and he seemed resonably secure in his footing.

"Well, I'll help you," Roy said, eager to get Ed inside and out of sight, both for his own reasons and those mentioned by the innkeeper. He flinched when Ed's automail hand clenched his arm for support, and he swayed a little under the weight that was suddenly put upon him. "I can't carry you, Ed, stand up," the General warned. "You must weigh about a ton with all that metal."

Ed gave a short laugh, showing even more signs of full conciousness. "Yeah, about that much," he agreed, opening his eyes fully. "We didn't have to stop, you know. I was sleeping just fine in the car."

Roy supported him as best he could and they made their slow way into the building. "I want to give you some more time to recover before I throw you on the military higher-ups," he admitted, letting his concern show plainly.

"Oh, you wanna make sure I'm use-able before you use me?" Ed said sarcastically, and Roy's expression looked like he had been kicked in the gut. Ed rolled his eyes. "'Sall right, you know. I trust you."

Taken aback as he was, Roy still noticed how out of breath and pale Ed looked, and concentrated on getting him up the stairs. As they passed the front desk at the inn they both caught the hushed words of the attendants, talking about watching out for those military bastards and making sure they were given rooms far from the other guests, so as not to disturb their regular customers.

Roy had gotten used to that kind of talk years ago, but it was a testament to just how unwell Edward was feeling that he didn't let loose a piece of his own opinion.

Despite Ed's protests that he would have been fine in the car, Roy stood in the doorway of the small room and watched him climb slowly into the bed and drop immediately back into sleep. Roy had been a soldier; he had been shot before – he knew how draining a gunshot wound could be, even if it completely missed any vital organs, which, according to the doctor in Dillon, Ed's had not. He had been in surgery for several hours to stop the bleeding, and even afterwards there had been no guarantee he would pull through, especially without a decent supply of antibiotics. Roy pulled the small orange bottle from his pocket, leaving it on the nightstand, and went to fetch a glass of water to leave for him before he went to fetch himself a bottle of something stronger.

hr 

When she woke up it was to a sound she wished she didn't recognize. Al had already bolted out of bed and was halfway to the front door, and she scrambled after him but was too asleep yet to call after him. She found herself panting in the open doorway, staring out at the dingy grey stairwell of an apartment building that wasn't her home, her heart pounding and her ears still ringing with the sound of gunshots. She thought everything was stable now in Central? Wasn't why she had come there?

Slowly, she pulled the door shut, turning the first lock and then the second, and then pulling the chain across and locking that too. Then she went back to her daughter's room and saw that she was still sound asleep, undisturbed by the noise outside of her window or the commotion in her own bed. She crept toward the window, peering out once more. It was dusk, and everything was faded blue-grey in the dimming light. The moon was already high in the pale sky, and the sidewalk outside the window was silent except for a few passing pedestrians. She could hear the sound of an approaching car in the distance, and the motor grew louder as it came nearer and then faded away as it passed her. There were still soldiers on the corner, talking to each other, passing a cigarette back and forth under the newly-lit streetlamp. i Al? /i she wanted to call out.

She jumped when she heard his voice behind her.

"It was nothing," he said, motioning for her to come out of Kaiya's room and back into the small, square living room/kitchen. "I'm sorry," he added. "I didn't mean to scare you. I thought maybe- there have been stories…" he started, but his voice trailed off. It was that look again, that look that she hated to see in his eyes. That look that didn't belong in the eyes of the younger Elric. In the eyes of i any /i Elric, she amended quickly. "There's been talk that people are- disappearing. The military is coming and taking people, just like that, no explanation."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"They think the attacks came from somewhere inside our borders. At least partially. The enemy is already here, and everyone is a suspect."

"Al," she began, but stopped.

"This is bigger than anyone could have predicted," he whispered, his face an ashen shade, and she couldn't tell if it was from the fading light from the window or from something else entirely. "I can't tell you everything that's going on. Just- Winry, you know that we're at war, right?"

i Of course I do, stupid, /i she thought angrily, irrationally. i I just had to pack up and leave my home for the second time in my life. I didn't even know if we would really get here, or if you would really be waiting for us, or if- /i but she didn't let herself continue that thought. She simply nodded.

"I might not be able to stay here with you," he said finally. "If it gets bad- well, I'll have to go and fight."

"When?" she whispered. It was automatic, a show of comfort: she reached for his hand, clasping it between her own.

"I don't know yet."

She let go of his hand, stepping away from him, leaning down and picking up her bags that she had come with. She unzipped the first one: she had only brought one change of clothes, and they were no longer clean. She dropped them on the floor, and then dropped to her knees, staring down at the two bags, everything she had now, for all she knew. Maybe this would be just like last time. Maybe she would never go back to her house in Altenburg. Maybe that town had been absorbed into the area called "unstable territory" like Rizembool had been, where no one would dare to live.

She looked up at a plain white t-shirt dangling in her face. "Here," Al said gently. "This is mine, but it's clean. You don't mind sleeping in this, do you?"

She shook her head, taking it from him.

"That's your room," he added, pointing at the second door in the narrow hall. "Like I said, I can sleep on the couch."

"Don't," she said abruptly, but she was afraid to look him in the eyes.

i I'm scared. I'm lonely. I miss your brother. I want to use you. I want to pretend you're him.

I hate myself for being like this.

The world could be ending. I could wake up tomorrow and it ends up the last day of my life. I could lose you in this crazy war we're in. Kaiya could grow up without a father. The military could take you away from me. I might never see you again.

I might never get to explain to you everything I feel for you.

The world doesn't care about this mess we've dug ourselves into.

It could end before any of us even try to fix everything. /i 

She didn't realize she was crying until she saw the tear drops making dark spots on her lap. Winry let her hair hang down over her face, trying to get a grip on herself before looking up, but she felt Al's arms around her. "Winry," he said softly. "It's going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. I wont let anything happen to you or Kaiya." He put a hand under her elbow, steadying her as she stood up, leading her to the closed door of the room that was supposed to be hers.

Suddenly she just wanted to be alone, and, before she could stop him, she shoved him square in the center of his chest. "Just sleep on the couch!" she cried, pushing the door shut with the back of her heel and flinging herself down on the lumpy mattress.

hr 

Edward woke with a start, feeling three sharp pains throbbing in time with one another: two in his stomach and one in his left shoulder. He wanted to curl into the lumpy matress and pull the musty blanket close around him, disappearing once more into the world of exhausted, dreamless sleep, but every movement sent a fresh stab of pain through his torso. Slowly, he sat up, blinking in the dim room. It was still daylight, he saw, but barely. The curtains were drawn, blocking out most of the weak and setting sun, and he was alone. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, along with his bottle of antibiotic pills from the hospital, and a note jotted on the back of an envelope - i in the room next to yours. Knock if you need anything. Leaving early tomorrow for Central. Get as much rest as you can. Roy /i .

Carefully, he shook out two pills and tossed them onto his tongue, gulping down the lukewarm water, not having realized until he drank how thirsty he was, and set the glass down on the nightstand with a bang. Reluctant to do anything that would involve moving his injured shoulder, he rubbed his eyes with his automail hand, thankful for the cool metal on his burning eyelids. He didn't think he could fall back to sleep.

He stood up, testing his automail leg several times before putting his weight on it and deciding it would hold. Never, in all the times he had wrecked up his best friend's masterpieces, had he ever tried to repair them himself; he knew better than to mess with what he didn't understand. It was wiser to leave such things to the experts, he had thought back them. But after ten years in a world where the only limbs he had were the remaining ones the Gate had left him and what he had been able to constuct himself with his substandart knowlege, he didn't hesitate to take matters into his own hands. He could tell the electrical impulses that ran along the artificial nerves weren't firing correctly, but the leg seemed to work well enough, and would last him until he would be able to get to a mechanic, even if it wasn't i his /i mechanic.

He had stayed in many inns with Al during their four years of travel, and he figured this one couldn't be that much different. There might be a washroom at the end of the hall with running water, or there might be water to be had in the kitchen from a pump, but he placed his bet on the building having running water. While he had been gone Amestris had gone on pushing towards this new "modern age" everyone was always talking about, and besides, he was certain he was close to Central and the towns closer to the big cities always had newer technology than the ones way out in the country side.

Towns like Rizembool, his home. He remembered the first time he had seen a big city was when he and Al had come to find the Colonel in East City, when he had been twelve and Al had been eleven. He had tried desperately not to look like an ignorant country kid, but even for all his knowlege of science the technology available in the cities simply amazed him back then. Edward shook his head. Just a few years ago he considered himself an engineer, pushing for even greater and even more unthinkable advances in a country no one here had even heard of. And now he considered himself... he shook his head again, his hand on the doorknob. A brother? A father? A scientist? An alchemist? i A friend? A lover? /i 

There was, just as he had guessed, a washroom at the end of the hall, and he drank directly from the faucet and then splashed the cold water over his face, wetting his super-short fringe of bangs and frowning at the reddened scar that ran just above his eyebrow. It would probably fade in time, he figured, but it would never go away. Just another one of the ugly marks that covered his body, marks of hurt and violence and pain. What was one more to him, anyway?

i "-those military assholes upstairs, think they've been sent to investigate what's been going on here?"

"Couldn't possibly have. No one knows about this route, no one would ever suspect we're harboring the Drachman fortune /i here i , right outside of Central."

"There's another pickup tonight-" /i 

The rest of the conversation was muffled, but Ed had his ear pressed to the vent under the sink, and quietly clapped his hands together and pressed them to the wall, slightly altering the ventilation system to better amplify what was going on on the floor below him.

i "-make much sense, though, does it? Why would they be smuggling their treasure /i into i Central?"

"Have you actually seen what's in those packages?"

"Not me, I ain't seen a thing. They're not paying us to look inside, just to keep it hidden until it's all moved to where ever they're taking it." /i 

Ed's eyes widened at the next statement:

i "I looked inside, you know what they are? They're bricks, stone bricks, red, like a gemstone. God only knows why they're so important to them." /i 

The conversation he was overhearing had moved to another room, so he couldn't have caught anymore of it if he had wanted to, but he had stopped listening at the mention of the red stones. i What the hell? /i That package he had seen, that time in Central, that wasn't the only one? What had he stumbled on this time?

His mind was spinning. Drachma was attacking his country from the northern border, yes, but what if that was just to distract the military from whatever it was they were doing right under their noses?

Before he even realized what he was doing, Edward found himself creeping slowly down the stairs, the ones at the other end of the hall, not the ones Roy had helped to drag him up earlier. As he suspected, the door at the bottom was locked, and, again with barely a thought, he opened it alchemically, silently, without a sound, and pushed it open, peering into the darkness and waiting for his eyes to adjust.

His breathing was shallow simply from the exertion required to travel the length of the hallway and the flight of stairs, and he could feel his three wounds pulsing in time with his heartbeat, but he clenched his teeth and steeled himself further, blinking in the unlit basement. He heard the shuffling sounds before his sight sharpened, and he drew further back behind the door when he realized there were men down there, loading up the brick shaped packages onto a cart of some sort, silently and quickly. He sealed the door again and leaned back against the stairwell. He couldn't very well run in there and stop them, show them his State Alchemist's watch and haul them back to Central, exposing them as villains and be hailed as a hero, now, could he?

He stared at the flight of stairs ahead of him, took a deep breath, and grabbed the rail with his automail hand, using the other hand to clutch his abdomen, and began his ascent.

hr 

Al jumped when he saw a something move behind him in the mirror, and immediately relaxed when he realized it was only Winry, standing just outside the narrow bathroom door, watching him comb through his hair and tie it back behind his head.

Her lips were slowly spreading upwards in a smile, though her eyes were slow to follow. "Al?" she said softly, and, although he could see her reflection, he turned around to face her for real. "When did you start shaving?"

He looked back to the mirror, running his hand over his smooth chin. "A few months ago."

She came to stand beside him at the sink, staring at his reflection critically. "Why, though?"

"Because," came the serious answer. But no explanation followed.

"Al," Winry pressed. "You don't have anything i to /i shave."

He pushed his face closer to its reflection. "Yes I do. A little," he added, turning his head from side to side, running his fingers over his "sideburns." As Winry reached across him for her toothbrush and turned on the faucet, he added, "My body's almost eighteen. I i should /i start shaving, right?"

She shrugged and spat into the sink. "I don't know," she told him. "I'd think you'd wait until you had something to shave off, first."

"Hey!" he protested, but she had his chin in her hand and ran her own fingers lightly over his jawline, smiling at him.

"Al," she said, her eyes twinkling in amusement. "There is nothing here."

"Because I shaved it off," he said stubbornly, but he couldn't meet her eyes for fear he'd start laughing and give himself away.

"How old was your brother when he started shaving?" Winry asked curiously, and he was immediately serious.

He turned away from the mirror and reached for his shirt. "I have no idea," he said shortly. "I wasn't there. Is the baby awake?"

She paused midway through running a brush down the length of her yellow hair. "Hm? No, she's still asleep. Al?"

"What?" he said, the word muffled by the cloth of his shirt as he pulled it over his head, straightening the collar in the mirror and pulling his ponytail out in one long sweep so it rested on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, looking down at her bare feet on the cracked tiles of the cramped bathroom. Her voice had a weird echo to it in the tiny room.

She felt his hands grasping gently the backs of her arms, and he pressed his lips to her forehead in a gesture he hadn't offered her in months – or was it years? – and left them there for a full minute before he broke away.

When he spoke his voice was very soft, and he was looking down, his eyelashes throwing shadows over his cheeks in the harsh fluorescent lighting. "I've done some really bad things in my life," he said, very quietly, and then paused again. "Unforgivable things." He let one hand curve around the small of her back, rest on the dip of her waist, and her forehead dropped to rest on the center of his chest. "One thing I've learned about that word is that it doesn't mean a single thing."

She raised her eyes to him, and his breath caught, not for the first time, perhaps at the zillionth time, at the stunning hue of her eyes.

"Not a single thing," he repeated.

"But I am sorry," she repeated. "I'm sorry for all of this – I hate that I've come between you brothers."

"So do I," he whispered honestly.

She pulled away from him, staring down at the floor, unable to say anything else for a few minutes.

"Winry," he said then, and she looked at him. "I still love you. Nothing can change that."

hr 

He knocked twice, with his automail hand, even, but there was no answer. Impatient, he pushed the door open and stepped inside, but there was still no response. His eyes were already adjusted to the dark, and he scanned the room, taking in the rumpled but empty bed, the small, closed suitcase on the desk, and the half empty bottle on the nightstand. Remembering the night at the hotel in Central, he glanced over at the window, and there was Roy, rocks glass in hand, dressed in pyjama pants only. He turned slowly, staring down at his now-empty glass, and walked over to the nightstand, picking up the bottle.

"Don't," Ed warned, and Roy looked up, noticing he wasn't alone for the first time.

He saw Ed standing in the door frame, silhouetted by the lit room behind him, and frowned. "Ed?" he said blankly.

"You'd better not be drunk, bastard, because we got shit to take care of," he said, stepping forward. Then he stopped, his eyes locked on Roy's face. He didn't notice at first; the room was dark and the general looked exactly the way he had looked when he was a colonel: no patch covering nearly half his face. But when Ed stepped out of the doorway he let more light into the room, and he saw Roy's entire face, lit, unobscured. The entire eye socket was collapsed, the eyebrow was gone, everything was gone, and Roy bought his hand up to cover the side of his face, turning swiftly away. "Sorry," Ed said, his voice low. "I knocked, you know."

He snatched the patch up off the nightstand and slid it over his head, his back still turned. "It's fine," he said to the wall. "What happened? What do you want?"

"You know why they don't want us here?" Ed said, his face pale, neutral.

Roy sat down on the narrow bed, leaning back on his hands, and said, "Because everyone hates the military these days Ed, I told you that."

"Nuh uh, General," he said, that cocky grin creeping over his exhasuted features, "that's not all of it. While you were up here," he gestured towards the bottle on the nightstand, "doing this, I was poking around downstairs. They're stockpiling red stones here, that's why they didn't want any military hanging around."

"You were supposed to be resting," the General said, his voice flat. "Not prowling around in the dark."

"I wasn't prowling- Roy! Red stones!" Edward practically shouted, but dropped his voice when he realized someone could just as easily be listening to him as he had listened to the conversations he had overheard.

"Yes, some group has been moving illegal red stones around the country for quite some time," Roy said, unconcerned and unimpressed.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "Dont you think," he said slowly, "it would be awfully impressive for you to actually i catch them /i ? I mean, I'm sure the president-"

"The president's dead, Ed," Roy said, his arms folded in front of him. He reached over and poured himself the drink Ed had stopped him from earlier, and switched on the bedside lamp.

"Dead?"

"Assassinated," he clarified. "Central was rioting for days afterward, just like what happened after –after the Fuhrer-"

"After you killed the Fuhrer," Ed finished for him. "So who's in charge now? The new president?" When Roy was silent, Ed pressed, "Roy? Who's in charge now?"

"No one," he said, his voice eerie, even in the soft glow of the lamplight. "Yet." He took another sip from his rocks glass. "Not until someone steps in and i takes /i charge." He put the glass down, and, after a minute of Ed's confused stare, he added, "I'm trying to do this as painlessly as possible. Amestris doesn't need anymore bloodshed; that's exactly what I've been working to eliminate."

Ed's eyes grew round with Roy's statement. "Then who the hell are you trying to impress with my 'capture'? And who the hell 'ordered' you to find me, if no one is giving orders?" he demanded, his metal hand on his hip.

"A lot of people are trying to give orders, and a lot of people are vying for control. Trust me, Ed, it was better that I find you now rather than someone else hunting you down later."

Edward frowned, stepping further into the room and sinking down on the edge of the bed next to Roy. "I do trust you, Roy," he said, for the second time that day. "But why can't you tell me what you're doing?"

"I thought I already made that perfectly clear," the older man said smoothly, picking up his drink again. "I'm going fix this country." He took another sip. "And I need your support, just like I need the support of everyone else who has been working under me all these years, in order to do it."

"But-"

"Trying to shut down this minor waystation of red stone traficking will simply look like another incident of civil unrest, which is not the impression I want to make. Returning to Central with one of the military's greatest weapons, is."

"That's how you see me?" Ed spat, "as a i weapon /i ?"

"That's how the rest of the military sees you, Ed," Roy said calmly. "Now get some rest. Leave whatever's going on in the basement of this inn alone, these people are just pawns caught up in something greater than they know. We don't want to get mixed up in that too, not yet. You really need to go to sleep now, it's late"

Ed stomped his foot, and flinched when the movement sent a pang of pain through his gut. "I'm not your damn subordinate, and I'm not-" he began, but Roy held a hand up to stop him.

"I know you're not, Ed. But you are my friend. Please. Just leave it alone, and do what I'm asking you."

Ed stared at him for a full minute before he turned turned to go back to his own room. He paused in the doorway, and turned back, saying, "I'd better not have to wake your ass up tomorrow and find you hungover. This country's gonna be pretty dificult to fix with the state it's in right now."

The General gave the younger man a small, sad, half smile. "Good night, Ed."

hr 

hr 

Edward tried to reach a hand up to rub his tired eyes open, but it would not move. "Al, get off," he mumbled, sleep pressing down thickly on his consciousness. He tried the other hand and was met with the same resistance.

The sheets were scratchy under his cheek, hospital sheets, he decided. The sounds and scents of the room matched that guess, and, without his fingers to pry them, he forced his eyes open and waited for the room to come into focus. "Why," he asked, his voice sounding echo-y and distant, "am I in the hospital again?" He forced himself to lift his head, and observed two disturbing occurances: one, each hand, separately, was chained to the rails of the bed. And second, a very familiar looking man was standing by the side of his bed, and there was a nurse doing something with the IV that was running into the inside of his arm. "What the hell?" he muttered, bolting upright and, strangely, feeling only a dull ache in hsi gut and shoulder when he expected a stabbing pain.

i They're giving me painkillers? /i 

The nurse opened her mouth to say something to the man, but he held a hand up to shush her. "It's all right," he told her. "He's safe. As long as he can't bring his hands together, he can't do any alchemy."

That wasn't true, but Ed didn't think it was wise to correct the man. i General Haruko /i , he remembered. Roy's boss. "I saved your life!" was out of his mouth before he could formulate something more intelligent, more strategic, more appropriate for the situation, which was, he thought, glancing down at the handcuffs, fairly serious.

The man was startled at Edward's chosen objection, and frowned. "I've repaid you for that, I would think, simply by not executing you on sight, Major Elric."

"I'm not military," Edward spat, tugging at the restraints. His mind was rapidly clearing. "Any more," he clarified. "I quit," he said defiantly. Roy had warned him about an encounter with another military higher up, and he cursed himself for not coming out of his obvious sedation better prepared for such a confrontation.

"I wouldn't have expected a child to understand the amount of commitment that is entailed when one i willingly /i signs up for the service," the general said calmly.

"I'm not a child!" Ed snapped, his eyes flashing.

"That's right, you're not anymore, are you? So you can expect no special exceptions due to your age."

"Why am I restrained?"

The general stared at him hard, and after a good five seconds answered him with "I have our capital to protect, never mind a country. Somehow I don't think the citizens of Central would feel very safe knowing the Fullmetal Alchemist was just lounging about in the hospital, free to roam about as he wished."

Feeling he should be more clever in dealing with this man, who, rather than being Roy's boss was more likely Roy's rival for control, all he could manage was a stunned i "What?" /i 

Haruko looked at him with suspicion. "What kind of deal did Mustang make with you, that you're so certain you could just waltz right back in here as if nothing happened? I'll be the first to admit, the military i does /i need you, but, Fullmetal, you singlehandedly destroyed an entire i city /i . A lot of people are understandably nervous at your return."

Ed just blinked at him, stunned. "What city? What are you talking about?"

"I want to make this very clear to you," the general said, standing over his hospital bed. "Amestris is deeper into this war than it's citizens can even imagine, and your assistance is desperately needed. Even with your abilities, it may not be enough. We've been on the losing end of this struggle ever since it started. No one is prepared to hold you responsible for the slaughter of the thousands of men in Lior years ago, because we need you. But you are on a very tight leash, Elric." He pressed his lips together. "Very tight."

The experience of the destruction of Lior came flooding back to the forfront of his brain all at once: Lyra, who was really Dante, and Roze, silently leading the citizens out of the city through a secret passage to safety – whatever had happened to Roze? Did she make it safely out of the underground city, in the end? What of her baby? He had never even thought to ask – Scar, and his tattooed arm and the souls of his nation contained within his body, the hushed tension in the air that i something /i was going to happen, although Ed was only beginning to formulate what it was going to be when the results came hurtling back in his face: his brother, turned into the Philosopher's Stone itself, both of them thrown into the uncharted, undocumented and forbidden entrails of alchemy at its most powerful... and before that, his brother turned into a bomb –

Kimbley.

He let out a bitter laugh, and both pairs of eyes darted nervously over to him.

The Crimson Alchemist, he had been called. A prisoner down in the depths of the fifth laboratory set free again, despite his horrible crimes, because the military needed him.

The man turned his brother into a bomb, and Scar saved his brother's life by using every occupant of the city of Lior to turn Al into a Philosopher's stone, and Edward had helped the innocent civilians escape. But somehow, the blame had fallen to him?

Rather than being the Hero of the People, he was looked at as another Kimbley?

The nurse was propping his bed up beneath him so he could lean back on the pillows without laying down, and saying something about having a tray brought up. He tugged at the handcuffs pointedly, and she glanced nervously over at the General, who produced the required key from inside his jacket.

He sat silently as the restraints were undone, and he immediately brought a hand up to rub at his bleary eyes, trying to shake off the last remenants of sleep before continuing this confrontation, but it oddly ended when the man stood, responding to voices in the hall, and left Ed without a word. His place was taken by two armed military guards in his doorway, presumably to prevent his "escape."

i As if I had anywhere to escape to /i ...

hr 

"Close the door," the General said, not looking up from his paperwork until he heard the soft click of the latch. "I found your brother," he said then, his one eye dark and serious. He studied the younger Elric carefully, watching his normally soft face harden and his arms fold across his chest.

"I know," Al said, surprising even himself with how cold he could let himself be. "It's all over the papers. The Fullmetal has come out of hiding. Was that what you needed to tell me in private?"

Roy was a little taken aback at the younger brother's attitude, but he pressed the tips of his ungloved fingers together and said over them, "No, I wanted to tell you that he's in Central hospital; he collapsed earlier today."

Al's deep grey eyes clouded and his expression softened slightly. "What happened?" he demanded. "What did Brother do?" His voice rose with mounting concern, cracking slightly as it rose higher. "Is he al right? What happened?"

"He's fine. He was just pushing himself a little too hard after being so seriously injured."

"Injured?" Al repeated, startled at how his voice sounded suddenly so much like a child's.

"I can take you to see him this afternoon," Roy offered, watching him closely.

"Is he all right?" he asked again, trying to force his voice back into the range of an adult. "You said he's fine, right? He's going to be okay?"

Roy stood from behind his desk, wanting to offer some type of comfort to the boy, and said the best he could manage. "Yes, he's going to be fine. He just needs to take it easy for a few more days."

"Are you sure?" Al demanded, the touch of accusation in his words startling him.

"I'm positive." He waited for the Elric to say something else, and, when he did not, he finally repeated, "You can see him this afternoon…?" He let his voice trail off when he saw Al shaking his head.

"Did he ask to see me?"

i Al won't want to see me, /i Ed had said cryptically, refusing to say more on the subject. Roy had found it hard to believe then, and he found it just as hard to believe now. He shook his head slowly.

"I have a lot of work to do, General," Al said, perfectly correct and polite as always. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, Lieutenant," he said, equally formal and correct, and started at his door long after it had been closed again. For all he had felt powerless to pry an explanation out of Edward, he had not expected Alphonse to be an even tougher barrier to breach. Whatever had happened between the two of them, neither of them would talk about it. Or at least, he amended, not with him.

hr 

Ever since he had arrived in Central, (not counting the first two days, which he had spent recouperating in the quiet of the hospital) Edward had been operating in Roy's shadow, skillfully dodging every interrogation attempt that came up. He was given a military uniform – the smallest uniform available now fit him, unlike when he had been an unusually small fifteen-year-old and had been given an exemption from having to work in uniform due to the fact that there were none in his size.

"It suits you," Roy told him as he handed him a new State Alchemist's watch. If the country wasn't in a state of crisis, if there had been a president to award it, the president would have, but Amestris was leaderless and directionless, and so Roy simply handed it to him, and Ed flicked it open and closed once or twice, for old time's sake. It didn't feel as familiar in his palm as he had thought it would, and he wondered if that meant his hand had grown that much since he was a teenager, or if he had simply forgotten the sensation after so many years had passed.

"Shut up," he muttered under his breath, looking down at the stiff blue jacket he wore with its gold embellishments and shiny buttons. The uniform came with a heavy black coat, just like Roy's, and he shrugged it over his shoulders and drew it closed. He needed a new coat anyway, he thought. His old red coat was somewhere in Germany with Alphonse Heiderich, and his old brown coat was somewhere in Altenburg and he couldn't venture into what was now enemy terrritory just to retrieve his coat. "It doesn't, and you know it." He folded his arms across his chest. "I thought I was done with the military forever."

"You're never done with the military," Roy said distantly, staring past him at the walls of his office.

hr 

It was nearly a week later when Al saw his brother, and it was from the back, and from the far end of a hallway in Central Headquarters. He had meant to call out to him, but his voice had caught in his throat, and the next second the blond head was out of sight. The second time he saw him, Ed looked right at him, and his expression of panic made his heart sink. i I didnt mean what I said to you, Brother, I didn't mean any of it! /i he wanted to cry out, but instead, he simply walked towards him, stopping when he was in front of him, and looked him over, making sure his brother really was safe and in one piece. "Brother, your hair," was the first thing he said, and his brother reached up self conciously to run a gloved hand over his strangely chopped strands.

"Uh, yeah, it kind of got burned off in the explosion," he said awkwardly, and Al could only think that the short hair made his brother look younger, less like their father and more like Ed the way he remembered him, Ed as a child, Ed as his unfallible big brother.

"But you're all right now?" Al asked him anxiously, eyeing the scar over his eye.

Ed nodded. "Yeah, I'm all right," he assured him, with the comforting voice he had used with him ever since they had been children.

i I'm sorry, Brother.

Yeah, it's all right. /i 

"Are you all right? Is Winry all right?" he asked then, anxiously, and no less awkwardly.

Al nodded miserably. "I'm fine. Winry is fine"

"Al, I have something-" he began.

At the same time, Al said, "Ed, Kaiya-" but he stopped. "Go ahead, Brother."

His features were hard and his voice was low when he spoke. "Someone is moving huge quantities of red stones i into /i Central, and they're doing it under the orders of Drachma," Ed said quickly, looking breifly from side to side to gauge how private their conversatoin was. "It's been going on for a while-"

i Brother, I missed you so much.

I missed you too, Al. /i 

"Yeah," Al said slowly, "last time you were in Central you told me you saw red stones then. How... how did you find out about this?"

"I happened upon a stash of them in a small town just outside the city," he said quietly, and Al scoffed mentally. His brother never "happened" upon anything. He was certain he was leaving out the true circumstances of how he found this stockpile. "And the government already knows about this, apparently, because when I told Roy he wasn't surprised."

Al frowned, and rubbed the back of his head. "The government doesn't really know it's right hand from its left these days, you know," he said. "They can't even decide who their leader is supposed to be. I almost want to go back to the days where the military was in control, because at least then i someone /i would be in control, instead of this mess." He lowered his voice, and Ed stepped a little closer to hear his next words. "They're saying Drachma has a Philosopher's Stone," he said, very quietly, and watched his brother shrink back as if he'd been burned.

"What?" he sputtered, his gold eyes flashing. "That's impossible, no one-"

"That's what I thought, too," Alphonse said gravely. "I figured it had to be a rumor, nothing more. But if they're moving around those red stones..."

"...maybe they're trying to create one," Ed finished for him, and the brothers stared into each other's eyes. "And if they succeed..."

"...they could destroy us."

And they were just two people in a country on its way to hell, or that was what they felt like, each staring into the other's eyes, reading the uncertainty and the concern reflected back at them. They were just two members of a military without a commander, citizens of a country with no real leader, and Al wanted to seize his brother's hand, say, i we can do it, Brother, we can save everyone, /i and take off to save the world together, but he didn't. "You should come see Kaiya," he said instead. "She misses you. She's always asking for Ed, where's Ed, when's Ed coming home. Kaiya wants you to come home."

Ed looked down at the tiled floor of the hall. "She'll stop asking eventually," he said to the floor.

"Brother..."

"It's better for everyone if I'm not around," he said bitterly.

i No it's not! /i Al cried out. i I didn't mean that! I was angry; I didn't mean it! /i "She's getting so big, and she's been talking so much, it's amazing, no other two year old talks as much as she does, really, Brother," he said desperately, cursing himself for not being able to say what he wanted to. "Ed, you have to see her," he said, his voice dropping. "You... you don't want to be like Dad. You don't want her to grow up wondering whatever happened to you."

"It wont be like Dad," Ed said, his voice quiet. "She's your daughter, Al. And she has a wonderful father. She doesn't need me around to screw everything up for her."

"She's your daughter," Al countered, equally quiet. "I really believe that. And it isn't right for you not to see her. And she's your daughter as much as she is mine, it's stupid to argue who actually- you know. We're all her family, anyway." He wanted to wrap his arms around his brother, cry into his shoulder, and sob his apology into his newly-cropped hair, but his words to Winry kept echoing through his mind.

i The one thing I've learned about that word is it doesn't mean a thing. Not a single thing. /i 

"Al," his brother said, breaking him out of his thoughts. "Whatever happens, be careful."

Al looked at him, realizing his brother had gone back to talking about the war.

"I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

i I love you, Brother, /i he silently told his retreating back.

hr 

Ed stared incredulously at the chair the General had pulled out for him, and folded his arms in front of himself. "Why did you do that?" he demanded, his eyebrows drawing together in accusation.

Roy calmly took a seat, regarding Ed as if he wasn't on the verge of creating a scene. "A gentleman always pulls out the chair for his guest," he said simply.

"Jesus, Roy, you're making this sound like a date!" the younger man growled, throwing himself down on the chair and jerking it up to the table before re-folding his arms.

Roy raised his eyebrow questioningly. "Jesus?" he repeated.

Ed just waved him off. "Something they say on the other side. It's like saying 'God,' or whatever." He fixed him with a hard stare. "You're supposed to be denying that this is a date!" he told him forcefully.

The General folded his hands in front of himself. "You don't want this to be a date?" he asked, eyebrow raised.

Ed opened his mouth to respond, then closed it before he could say whatever it was he thought of first, and then glared at him. "No," he said flatly. "I don't want to go on i any /i dates, with i any /i one!" he grated out finally, visibly forcing his decible level down a few notches, aware that he was beginning to attract the attention of the other diners. "It's not just you, I mean, you- you're-" his cheeks began to flush, but he didn't let himself look away. "I mean, everyone wants a date with you, you're the Colonel," he said, his voice very low, and Roy couldnt help but smile inwardly at the statement, even if it was no longer true. "I mean, okay, I think we've established I had a crush on you a long time ago, but, things are different now."

"Are they?" Roy asked calmly.

His forehead was propped on his hands and he was looking down at the tablecloth. "Of course they are. Everything is different," he said tightly.

Roy leaned back from the table, regarding this older version of Edward carefully

"This whole country is a wreck," he was saying quietly, his eyes focused on something only he could see. "We're on the eve of an all out i war /i , everything's going to hell, and Alphonse hates me. He i hates /i me, Roy, I've ruined his life and- I have a i daughter /i . Going on a date is just about the i furthest /i -" he stopped, his voice losing its desperate edge and taking on an accusatory tone "-how can you just sit there and play games like this?" he demanded.

Something like a smirk but not was beginning to play at the corner of the man's mouth, and even though his dark hair was greying at the sides, even though there were lines at the corner of his eye and a dark patch over nearly half his face, even though his mouth was harder and his eye was sometimes colder, he was still Roy, the same Roy that could get Ed flushed and flustered with just a sidelong glance, and Ed the adult sat in his fancy upholstered seat with his elbows on the fancy linen table cloth and glared like Ed the teenager. "Have you ever considered, Ed, that there is no such thing as a 'good' time to enjoy yourself?"

"What? No," the younger man said stubbornly.

"There's always going to be a reason i not /i to do something. There is no 'good' time, there's just opportunities. We take them, or we leave them." He picked up the menu, opened it, and took a quick glance at it before looking back up at his companion. "And when they're gone, they're gone," he added, his face bland, neutral, and it infuriated Ed even more.

"What the fuck are you trying to say to me, Roy?" he demanded, just as the waiter was coming over to take their order, and he snapped his mouth shut, scanning the menu quickly and looking up at the calm, serene man in the tuxedo and saying roughly, "I think I need a glass of wine, I want this one."

"Sir, that wine is only available by the bottle," the waiter said with a condescending air.

"Then bring the bottle," Roy interjected with a slight waive of his hand, and Ed glared at him.

"I don't want a damn bottle, which ones can I get by the glass?" he asked, frowning at the wine list, realizing that none of the names on the page meant a thing to him. This wasn't Germany, this was home, yet he suddenly felt incredibly out of place. He watched Roy exchange glances with the waiter above his head, and felt not only out of place but uncultured, and was silent until the man had left their table for the wine cellar.

"I didn't know you cared for wine," Roy said amicably, as if the previous discussion had not occurred.

"This isn't the only fancy place I've ever been to, you know," he said, sounding somewhat insulted. "In Germany, rich sponsors used to wine and dine us to try to get us to work on i their /i projects, and not their competitor's. I got pretty used to it. Eventually."

Roy raised his eyebrow. "Eventually?"

"Yeah." Ed took a sip of his wine, and Roy did the same. He stared off into a potted plant for a few minutes, and then out into the crowded dining room, watching the other diners enjoy themselves, or seem to. "Thanks," he said belatedly, "for taking me out. Sorry I'm not very good company."

"You're fine company, Edward," Roy told him, his voice genuine. "Some of the best, in fact," and there was no flirtatiousness to the comment whatsoever, so much that Ed wondered if he had in fact imagined the previous conversation.

"You're drinking the rest of that bottle," he said, gesturing to the object with his wine glass. "I'm never getting drunk with you ever again."

"A little wine won't make you drunk," Roy protested, laughing lightly, but Ed shook his head.

"Not happening."

The older man shrugged, as if to say it didn't matter. "You never say much about the other side of the gate," he ventured.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "There isn't much to say," he said succinctly. "I'm an alchemist, and there was no alchemy there. So, I was nobody." The ten years he had spent in the other world were so much more than just that, but Ed didn't think he could even begin to explain what it had been like, even to him self, let alone to Roy.

"You mentioned it twice just now," Roy told him. "That's more than I've ever heard you say before."

Ed looked away. "I miss my brother," he said, as if that sentence was the perfect explanation for everything. He picked up his wine glass and took a long gulp, nearly finishing it, and shook his head stubbornly when Roy offered to pour him another glass. "I told you, the rest of that's yours," he said, trying to force a lighter tone into his voice, and almost succeeding. "Look, I don't like stuff I don't understand, all right? If there were a book out there on 'the definition of love,' believe me, I'd read it. But there's not. And I sure can't write one. So right now, I'm staying away from it all together."

"Fullmetal-"

"Edward," the young man gritted out, for the second time that evening. "I'm not your damn subordinate anymore."

Rather than argue that, Roy pressed his previous point. "Edward," he conceded. "You can't define love. It's impossible."

"Everything can be defined," Ed said flatly. "Don't give me that crap about something being impossible. Just because it hasn't been done yet doesn't mean it i can't /i . We humans are just too stupid to figure it out yet."

"You haven't lost any of your arrogance, not a bit, have you," Roy said, leaning back in his chair with that smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

Ed snorted. "Whatever gave you the idea that I did?" he asked, rolling his eyes and then looking down at the fancy tablecloth, smoothing his white gloves over his hands.

"It must have been an illusion, caused by your slightly increased height. I foolishly assumed you'd grown up a bit," Roy told him lightly, but the barb fell awkwardly on the table and stayed there.

"Fuck you," Ed said to him sharply, just as the waiter was arriving with their orders.

While Ed practically inhaled his meal, he tried to decipher what had just transpired in the past half hour. He knew Roy wasn't really flirting with him, so it had to be something else. It was almost like he was avoiding something.

"You know, I thought I was just scoring a free meal here, but you've been acting like you're taking me out for dinner and dancing," Ed tried, attempting to play a little at Roy's own game.

"What if I was?" The conversation had just gone full circle, and yet nothing seemed to have been said.

Ed folded his arms. "I'd say you're an idiot. You should know by now that's never going to work out." One look at Roy's face told him he was only teasing him again, which was exactly what he was expecting. He studied the older man carefully. Ed had never been good at reading anyone, but he decided to voice his suspicion anyway. Roy had been dodging the real reason he asked him here since the moment he pulled out his chair for him. "What do you want?" he demanded, folding his arms in front of himself, and ignoring his empty wine glass.

"Want?" Roy repeated innocently, but Ed was fairly certain he had caught on.

"Yeah. What'd you bring me here to tell me?"

Roy pressed his fingertips together and said seriously, "Ed, I need to send your brother to Drachma-"

Ed stood up from the table, his chair toppling backwards, and slammed his palms down on the surface. "I knew it!" he hissed. "Don't worry about the red stones, Fullmetal," he mimicked. "Don't concern yourself with them-" his eyes flashed, and Roy winced. So much for Edward not making a scene.

"Fullmetal, what are you talking about?"

"Dont pretend you don't know," he snarled. "Al told me everything! The Drachmen are making a Philosopher's stone. It's been going on for years. You didn't tell me because you knew I wouldn't want anything do do with it!"

"I have no idea what you mean," Roy said placatingly, but Edward would not be calmed.

"Which you know exactly what I mean! I know you, I know how you operate, you manipulative bastard! You are i never /i sending Al to Drachma, I don't care how badly you need an alchemist over there, I don't care how badly you need his knowlege of the Philosopher's Stone, you can't do it." Ed took a deep breath, his mind spinning, processing his newest suspicions and speculation. "Al is a i father /i , he has a family-"

"Edward, you haven't even heard what I have to say," came the calm response.

"You i bastard /i !" Ed yelled, his face red, the vein in his forhead beginning to twitch. Every eye in the restaurant was on the two military men, and the maitre'd was swiftly crossing the room, sputtering as he went and nervously shooing the two of them out on the balcony, so as not to disturb the other diners any further.

"You could have i asked /i me!" Edward exploded, once the balcony doors were shut behind them. "You could have said, Edward, I need you to go to Drachma and take care of this, but no, you have to drag my brother into it, i knowing /i what I would say-" he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He knew his arms and legs were flailing all over the place, he knew he must look like he was throwing some kind of tantrum. He forced himself to be still. "You say you're my friend," he spat. "Do you even know how to i be /i a friend? Do you even know what that i means? /i Or do you only know how to manipulate people?" He flung open the balcony door, propelling himself through it and slamming it shut again, storming through the captivated restaurant without even hearing the glass shattering and without even seeing the General standing dumbfounded on the other side.

hr 

Winry was almost used to having a military car and driver coming to pick her and Kaiya up whenever she needed to go out. Almost, but not quite. It still felt strange to her; she still had the same ingrained dislike for the military she had harbored ever since she was a little girl, even though her two closest friends were at one time a part of it, even though she had come to know some truly kind people who were in the military. She wondered if Mrs. Hughes ever felt the same way about the military, having lost her husband to it years ago, or if she had somehow made some sort of peace with the situation.

"'Lysia!" Kaiya called out when the car pulled up in front of the Hughes household, recognizing it as the home of her new favorite person, the now twelve year old Elysia Hughes.

"Elysia's at school right now, baby," Winry told her quietly as the car pulled to a stop. She thanked the driver and picked her daughter up out of the car and made ready to carry her up the Hughes' walkway, but Kaiya struggled to get down.

"No, Mommy!" she said, with a child's passion. "No! I walk! I walk!" Winry sighed, smiling at her daughter's stubbornness. Considering who her parents were, it was no surprise whatsoever. She held Kaiya's small hand and walked beside her up to the Hughes' front door, and Gracia opened it before she even knocked.

"Kaiya!" Gracia said in greeting, scooping the little girl up in her arms for a hug, but Kaiya squirmed out of her grasp almost instantly.

"Sorry," Winry apologized, "she's-"

"She's that age, I understand," Gracia said kindly. "Come in, Winry. Elysia will be home from school in less than an hour, and she can't wait to show you her photographs. She's become quite the little photojournalist ever since she joined her school newspaper."

Winry smiled. "I'm sure," she told the older woman. She had come to cherish these visits to the Hughes house. Ever since Ed's return her life had become more and more about the four of them, her, Ed, Al, and Kaiya, and no one else. Even though she had lived in a town full of people, she had felt completely isolataed from everything familiar.

Gracia led her to her cozy, light-filled kitchen and she greatfully took a seat while her daughter promptly clambored up on the piano bench and began banging away at the keys. The tea kettle was already whistling on the stove and Gracia set a cup and saucer down in front of and soon she had a steaming cup of tea to stare down at.

"Al's been... distant," she said in response to Gracia's gentle questioning. "And Edward – I haven't heard from him at all, I mean, there's just what's been in the news, and-"

"Winry," Gracia interrupted, and she stopped, looking up from her tea and into the woman's warm eyes. "I meant how have i you /i been doing."

Winry sighed. "Well, with working at the hospital a few times a week, you know... I'm just trying to keep busy." Gracia nodded with understanding. "I really appreciate you watching Kaiya as much as you do, it's been a wonderful help."

"That's what friends are for," she said kindly. "It's really been a pleasure to have her here, and you know Elysia adores her."

"I adore her too," Winry said, her chin on her knuckles. "So does Al. So does Ed. I just wish that was enough. It seems like it should be, doesn't it?"

Gracia clasped her soft, dry hand over Winry's calloused own, and smiled sweetly. "It does, doesn't it?"


End file.
